


Ohana Means Family

by mygreatestjoyandprivilege



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And Neither Do I, Gen, M/M, Parent!lock, Parentlock, Post-The Sign of Three, Sherlock AU, Sherlock's questionable parenting skills, fluffy cuteness, he doesn't know what the fuck he's doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 09:41:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1546259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mygreatestjoyandprivilege/pseuds/mygreatestjoyandprivilege
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes was many things, but a father was not one of them. But when Irene Adler shows up on his doorstep with a three and a half year old girl that is practically the spitting image of Sherlock, it is undeniable. How is he supposed to be responsible for another human being when he needed John to remind him to eat every now and then? And more importantly, what is he supposed to tell John? No amount of self-help parenting books can help Sherlock get out of this one.</p><p>Maya Hamish Holmes manages to not only win the hearts of everyone around her but also brings Sherlock and John together in ways they could have never imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing a parentlock fic, so I hope it's alright! This has always been a weakness of mine as one of my favorite AU's so I thought I'd take a stab at it.
> 
> This is intended to be a multi-chapter work that I'm not really sure what I'm going to do with but I'm just going to keep writing until it makes sense. So hang in here with me!
> 
> Just a few points of clarification: (some spoilers I guess? you're gonna read the fic anyway I hope but you know)  
> -Irene and Sherlock slept together after he saves her from execution (the last scene in SiB)  
> -John and Mary are still together in this fic, but Mary is not pregnant. She's just kind of there in this fic, I haven't decided if she'll actually make an appearance or not. So this is a Mary-neutral fic, she isn't an assassin either. She's just John's boring, ordinary wife.  
> -Maya is about three and a half years old when Sherlock meets her for the first time
> 
> And as always, any feedback and/or comments are appreciated! Suggestions are always welcome as well. Enjoy!

Sherlock stared for a long time, unblinking and focused, not quite believing what he was seeing.

A small child with a tangle of unruly dark curls and bright blue eyes sat on the sofa in front of him, playing with a stuffed kangaroo and paying no attention to the two adults looking down at her from across the coffee table where they were standing. She was just over three years old and was full of life and energy, always with something to say. She seemed to talk nonsense nonstop but was currently distracted by her toy, content to be absorbed in her own world.

“I swear to you that she’s yours,” Irene said softly to Sherlock, snapping him out of his trance.

Sherlock finally turned his head to force himself to look at her.“I don’t understand,” was all he could think of to say.

“It’s not exactly astrophysics, my love. You finally indulged me in my plans to have dinner with you and well…here we are.”

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yes, I gathered that much. But it was only once and I didn’t think…I didn’t realize…and I don’t even…I’m not even…” he trailed off, unable to find the words.

“I know,” Irene replied simply. “I guess in the heat of the moment we forgot the most important part: protection. Granted, it was easy to do given how hectic it all was after you saved me from being executed and all, but still a grave mistake.” She paused, eyeing him carefully. “And just so you know, I’m not either. You were the only man I wasn’t a lesbian for.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes again and shook his head. “I can’t say that’s a comforting or flattering notion. But you’re sure that I’m…that this child shares my genetics as well?” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word “father.” Sherlock Holmes was many things, but he was not a father, despite the glaring evidence right in front of his eyes that he wanted so desperately for Irene to prove to be false.

She turned to face him again, looking into his eyes intently. “I may have lied to you about many things in the past, but I promise I am not lying to you now. Sherlock, you are her father. You have to be, logically speaking. You’re the only man I’ve slept with in years.”

“And you’re the only woman I’ve slept with in years,” he muttered under his breath, but Irene still heard it and cracked a smile.

“How lucky we are,” she said solemnly.

“Why did you decide to keep her? And more importantly, why are you coming to me now, three years after the fact? If you had asked me for help, I would have gladly provided it.”

“I don’t really have an answer to that, to be honest. I was terrified, but knowing that I was pregnant reminded me of you, which made it bearable in some ways. But then again, I was too cowardly to ask you for help, afraid you would refuse me after all you had done for me already. That doesn’t make any sense, I know, but what would you have done, honestly? I did just fine on my own. Until now, that is.”

“Yes, I’m still waiting for you to tell me what exactly all this is all about. Knowing that I suddenly have a daughter is quite startling, but knowing you, that’s just the tip of the iceberg.” Sherlock had turned his head back to the three year old, who was still happily entertaining herself with her stuffed toy on the sofa, completely oblivious to the conversation going on in front of her and appearing to be having a conversation of her own with her kangaroo.

Irene sighed and ran a hand through her long black hair, adjusting the braid that went halfway down her back. For the first time in his memory, Sherlock thought Irene looked tired. The Woman, the most intriguing female he had ever met, was tired, broken down, and desperately asking for help of some kind. And asking for it from him, of all people.

“I’m in a bit of trouble with the Russian government. Some demons of my past have resurfaced recently and there are some people who aren’t too happy with me at the moment. It’s a long story I’d rather not get into, but I need to take care of some things, and I can’t take her with me. It’s too dangerous. As much as I don’t want to let her out of my sight, I need to, and you’re the only one I trust to look after her. You are her father, after all.”

Sherlock looked incredulous. Of all the things she could have asked for, he was not expecting that. “You want _me_ to look after her? In exchange for what? What have you ever done for me?”

Irene shook her head. “I know, I know. I have no right to ask this of you, but please Sherlock. I have no one else to turn to.”

“What am I supposed to do about crime scenes? When I’m on a case? I hardly think you or Lestrade would approve of a three year old helping me investigate a double homicide.”

Irene shrugged. “Get a babysitter. Your landlady seems nice.”

“So the fact that we have a child together isn’t supposed to be a secret? I can just hand her over to Mrs. Hudson?”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Irene, you’re supposed to be dead.”

“Minor detail. Tell people she’s a second cousin you’re looking after while her parents go on holiday in the country for a few months?”

“A few months? How long is this business of yours supposed to take?”

She sighed, looking over at her daughter, who was now standing up on the couch, intently studying the wallpaper while still clutching her stuffed kangaroo in her chubby hands. “I’m not sure. But I promise as soon as it’s taken care of, I will be back in London as soon as possible to take her off your hands. And if you want nothing to do with me after this is over, I will completely understand and we will leave you alone. For good this time.”

Sherlock exhaled deeply and looked up at the ceiling. He wanted nothing more than to throw this woman out of his flat this instant, but he refrained. He had every right to. He had done so much for Irene and she had done next to nothing in return. Besides succeeding in convincing him to “have dinner” with her. It wasn’t even that impressive, if he was being honest with himself, and the moment it was over he regretted it. He knew now that he wasn’t wrong to regret it.

But something deep down in the icy heart of Sherlock Holmes convinced him to say, “Fine. But you must text me updates on your progress at least twice a week. If anything happens to you, I need to know what to do with her.”

Irene nodded. “Understood,” she replied. She smiled a genuine smile at Sherlock. “And thank you. I’m so sorry you didn’t know about her sooner.”

Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t know what I would have done, to be honest. Children are…not my area. I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, leaving your daughter in my care. I won’t pay for the therapy she may require in ten years.”

Irene laughed. “ _Our_ daughter,” she corrected. “And don’t I always know exactly what I’m doing?”

“No,” Sherlock replied immediately, then managed a small smile.

“You’re no fun,” she said, then went around the coffee table to sit down on the sofa.

“What’s her name?” Sherlock asked quietly as he continued to keep his distance but watching as the giggly toddler climbed into her mother’s lap.

Irene smiled. “Maya. Maya Hamish Holmes is her full name. Hope you don’t mind that I gave her your last name. Maya Hamish Adler didn’t sound as nice to me. My last name is an alias anyway.”

Sherlock made a face, furrowing his eyebrows together. “But Hamish is a boy’s name.”

“So? I couldn’t resist,” she replied, grinning. “John suggested it, after all. I thought I’d run with it.”

Sherlock froze, the realization setting in. “Oh no. What am I going to tell John?” He more thought the question aloud to the room than actually asked it to Irene, but she laughed anyway.

“Oh, you two are still a couple, are you?” she teased.

“We’re not a couple,” Sherlock snapped. “Besides, he’s married now.”

“To you?”

“No, not to me, of course not! Contrary to your belief, John Watson and I were never in a relationship.”

Irene raised an eyebrow, studying him carefully. “But weren’t you?”

With that, Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her and glared. He wasn’t going to play this game with her.

She shrugged. “Suit yourself. I have no idea what you’re going to tell John, but brace him for it when the time comes. You’re allowed to tell him the truth, by the way. I know you’d end up letting it slip out in front of him anyway, so might as well. I trust John Watson well enough.”

When Sherlock didn’t respond, she turned to Maya, pulling her off of her lap and placing her on the sofa cushion next to her. “Maya, sweetheart? Mommy’s going to need to take a little vacation for a while, and you’re going to stay here with this nice man,” she said, looking up and pointing to Sherlock, who was awkwardly standing across from them on the other side of the coffee table, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

Maya’s piercing blue eyes that were a perfect combination of her mother and father’s colors rested on Sherlock, and it was all he could do to just stare back.

“His name is Sherlock Holmes, and he’s a detective. He’s also your daddy. I’ve told you about him before, remember?” Maya nodded, still looking at Sherlock intently, as if she was memorizing what he looked like.

Sherlock winced at the word “daddy” and averted his eyes, unable to look at Maya any longer. She was practically the spitting image of him when he was a child, and it was unsettling.

“He’s going to keep you safe and look after you while I’m away, alright? I expect you to listen to him just like you would with me. You know the rules. And I will be back as soon as I can. Hugs and kisses?”

Maya then threw herself into her mother’s arms and wrapped her tiny arms around her neck tightly. She pulled away to give her a kiss then kept hugging her, unwilling to let go.

After another moment of this, Irene managed to pull Maya off of her and put her back on the sofa next to her. “Everything will be just fine, I promise.” She leaned forward and kissed Maya’s forehead gently. “What do we always say?”

“Ohana means family, and family means nobody gets left behind,” Maya said solemnly. She then lunged forward and hugged Irene again, so tightly this time it was questionable whether or not she would ever let go.

“I know darling, I know. I’m going to miss you too, but I promise I will be back soon. No one gets left behind. I promise.” When Irene saw the puzzled look on Sherlock’s face, she added over Maya’s shoulder as she rubbed her back gently, “She’s obsessed with that movie Lilo and Stitch. We’ve watched it at least twenty times, I swear. Now we have to quote it daily.”

Irene then managed to disentangle herself from Maya with a great effort and kissed her face until she giggled, then gathered her coat and purse and made for the door. Sherlock followed her, opening the door for her.

“That box is full of her clothes, toys, books and anything else she might need,” she said, motioning to the large cardboard box sitting next to the sofa that she had hauled up the stairs of the flat at her arrival. “You have my number. We’ll keep in touch. And thank you for this. Thank you so much.”

She then stood on her tiptoes and gave Sherlock a kiss on the cheek before slipping through the door and down the stairs. A few seconds later, Sherlock heard the front door slam behind her and she was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Realizing he's stuck with her, Sherlock slowly accepts the fact that he suddenly has a tiny human being to be responsible for. From nightmares to regular meals to bedtime stories, Sherlock tries to do what is expected of him and at least keep this three year old alive. It's slow going and messy, but he is trying, for Maya's sake.

Sherlock took his time returning to the living room where Maya was still seated on the sofa, looking around the room patiently while clutching her kangaroo.

After standing at the foot of the coffee table for a moment, he sat on the opposite end of the sofa from Maya and studied her carefully, not knowing what else to do. She simply returned his gaze and studied him just as thoroughly. The two sat for a few moments in silence, just staring at each other intently.

“Daddy?” Maya said, finally breaking the silence.

Sherlock jolted at the word and immediately snapped, “Don’t call me that,” before he could stop himself.

The tiny child looked so taken aback by his reaction that he regretted it immediately. “Erm, sorry. Why don’t you just call me Sherlock?”

“But aren’t you my daddy?”

Sherlock winced at the word again. “Yes, technically speaking,” he said slowly. “But we don’t know each other that well yet. Just call me Sherlock.”

“But Mommy said that you were my daddy. Aren’t you apart of my family?” Maya was clearly confused by the whole situation, and Sherlock knew it was useless to argue with a three year old over such matters, but he didn’t know what else to do.

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, frustrated. “But it’s complicated. I’ll explain it to you when you’re older.”

Maya furrowed her eyebrows in deep concentration, thinking it over. “Okay,” she said finally, nodding. “Hi, Sherlock.” She struggled a bit over his name but would get it eventually with practice, Sherlock was sure.

Another silence fell upon the room. Then Maya crawled forward on the sofa and reached out to Sherlock. There was no where he could go, so he simply sat there, unmoving, waiting to see what she would do.

Maya then crawled forward and collapsed into Sherlock’s lap, landing ungracefully and practically knocking the wind out of him, and then wrapped her small arms around his middle, hugging him tightly to her and closing her eyes. “I’ve been waiting to meet you for a long time,” she said in a small voice, rubbing her face into the soft material of his dress shirt.

Sherlock remained immobile as the tiny human in his lap hugged him, and he had no idea how to respond. After a moment he awkwardly patted her back, hesitant to touch her at all.

“That’s enough,” he said finally after she had outdone her stay in his arms. He then quickly plucked her off his lap and placed her a foot away from him on the sofa before standing up and retreating to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea and think about what exactly was happening in his life.

Later that evening as he saw Maya letting out a yawn and looking like she was about to fall asleep on the couch while watching television, Sherlock realized she would need to sleep somewhere. She could hardly sleep in his bedroom, because although he did not require sleep often, he would require the use of his bed occasionally. Besides, he didn’t want a three year old going through his things, despite how little he used his own bedroom.

That left only John’s bedroom upstairs. As much as Sherlock couldn’t stand the thought of Maya populating John’s old room, it was the only option besides the sofa. At least giving Maya her own temporary bedroom could get her out of his hair when he needed it; maybe looking after her for a few months wouldn’t be so bad if he could just send her upstairs when she was annoying him.

Sherlock hauled the heavy cardboard box of Maya’s belongings up the stairs, the three year old following behind him timidly. John had left his bed, dresser and desk with a chair in the room when he left and had never bothered to come back for it all, so Sherlock figured it might as well belong to Maya for the time being.

He then emptied the box, placing all of her books and toys on top of the bed and then folding and organizing her clothes in the dresser. After that, he didn’t really know what else to do for her and simply said, “You can put your toys and books wherever you want. This is your room for while your mother is away and you can do what you like with it. I’ll be downstairs.”

Sherlock knew that leaving a three year old on her own like that was “a bit not good,” as John would say, but he honestly didn’t know the first thing about parenting. He needed more time to think about it all to process it properly. He made himself yet another cup of tea and put a few nicotine patches on his arm, laying himself out on the sofa and placing his hands under his chin in his typical deep-in-thought position.

He was still shocked about the whole situation, so much so that it was difficult to even process it logically like he normally did. Him, a father. Sherlock Holmes: consulting detective and father. He shuddered at the notion. The one and only time he had sex with a woman—The Woman, on top of that—and he gets her pregnant. This is exactly why he didn’t engage in such practices. It always ended up getting him into more trouble than he thought it was worth.

But it had happened and now there was nothing he could do about it. He had a daughter now, and for the next few months (or even longer, depending on how serious Irene’s situation really was) he was in charge of her. He certainly couldn’t tell anyone that she was his daughter, however. That would lead to questions and the tabloids would get ahold of it and then he would never be left alone. It would be like the Richard Brook scandal all over again.

But anyone with eyes could see that Maya and Sherlock were related. Their eye and hair color was identical, to start with. Her nose even resembled his. Even when she made certain facial expressions, Sherlock noticed, they spookily mirrored his own. So a cousin’s child it would have to be. No one knew that Sherlock didn’t have any cousins, but no one knew about his family history but himself, his parents and Mycroft, so no one else would be the wiser.

Sherlock sighed, coming out of his mind palace and peeling off the nicotine patches. He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. What was he going to do with a three year old? John had always said that Sherlock was a child himself; how was he supposed to take care of and be responsible for another human being? He barely remembered to eat regularly enough.

He was still uncertain of what he would tell John as well. Casually dropping the fact that he had slept with Irene Adler, gotten her pregnant and now was left with a three year old daughter was not something that would go over well with John. But he was currently on a long holiday in France with Mary and wouldn’t be back for another two weeks, so Sherlock at least had some time to think over how he planned to explain it all to John.

Sighing loudly, Sherlock raised himself from the sofa and walked over to the desk, opening his laptop. He immediately began researching parenting tips and looked up popular titles of self-help books on the subject. If he was going to be stuck with Maya for this long, he might as well make an effort to keep her alive at the very least.

A few hours into his research, around 2am, he was interrupted by a quiet voice in the doorway saying, “Sherlock?” He whipped his head up from the article on disciplining children he was reading and looked over to see Maya slowly shuffling over to him, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and hugging her kangaroo to her chest.

He stared at her until she reached the side of the desk and looked up at him with big eyes.

“Do you need something?” he asked.

“I had a bad dream and now I can’t go back to sleep.”

Sherlock just looked at her blankly, not knowing what to do. “Erm, what does your mother usually do when this happens?”

“She makes me a cup of hot chocolate…and then she reads me a story until I get sleepy again.”

Sherlock stood up and walked past her into the kitchen. She automatically followed him. “I don’t have hot chocolate, but I have milk. Will a warm glass of milk do?”

Maya nodded, hugging her kangaroo tighter.

A few minutes later, warm mug of milk in hand, Sherlock hesitantly followed Maya back upstairs. Once she was settled into her bed and sipping her milk quietly, he picked up the top book from her stack on the floor and held it up.

“This one?” he offered.

Maya nodded enthusiastically, her eyes brightening. “Mommy just started reading that to me.”

He didn’t want to read her a bedtime story and he didn’t know if he would even do it right, but he was willing to do anything to get her to go back to sleep. It was probably better than his initial thought to show her old case files of murders until she fell asleep. Her mother may not approve of being exposed to such graphic content at the age of three.

Sherlock sighed and looked at the book’s cover. It was a slightly dog-eared copy of _Charlotte’s Web_. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the cover, not recognizing it but certain that it was going to be a struggle to take seriously. He was too old to deal with such childish nonsense.

After pulling over the chair from the desk and placing it next to the bed a fair distance away from Maya, he opened the book to the place Irene must have stopped reading last, marked with a sticky note, and began to read. Before he was even through the first page, Maya interrupted him.

“Can you do different voices for everyone? Mommy always does different voices.”

Sherlock groaned internally and sighed. “If you insist,” he replied after a long pause.

As he continued reading, he did different voices for the people and the animals in the story, making sure each one was unique in some way and different from his regular narrating voice. He read through a few pages and glanced up at Maya as he went, who was now grinning widely at him. He cracked a small smile in return, surprised she was enjoying this as much as she was, and continued on through the chapter.

At the end of the chapter, he glanced up at Maya again, who was struggling to keep her eyes open. When he finished the chapter and placed the post-it note in it to mark his place, Maya looked like she was ready to pass out.

Sherlock quietly placed the book back on top of the stack and gently took the cup from her hands, placing it on the bedside table. He then turned to flip off the light. Just before he did, he paused, looking over at Maya, who had rolled over and almost instantly drifted off to sleep.

After a moment’s hesitation, he gingerly pulled the blankets up further to cover her, careful not to disturb her. He then turned off the lamp and walked out of the room, pausing for a moment in the doorway. He looked back and smiled slightly before shutting the door quietly behind him.

The next morning, Sherlock realized that Maya probably wanted to eat more frequently than he would, like most humans did. When she asked him for cereal that morning for breakfast, he was only able to offer her some tea biscuits and milk.

Ever since John had stopped living in 221B, the flat had been lacking in food. When Sherlock was hungry, he either got something at Speedy’s or ordered some kind of take away, so the fridge and pantry were usually sparse of any kind of real food. He went grocery shopping maybe once a month, less if he could help it. He hated dealing with the idiotic shoppers at Tesco and normally avoided it at all costs if possible.

But Maya needed to eat. So a trip to the grocery store was in order, much to Sherlock’s dismay. After debating whether or not to take her with him or not, he ultimately decided to take her, hoping she could direct him to what food three year olds actually liked to eat.

So, after heading downstairs and introducing Maya to Mrs. Hudson (using the cousin’s child with the parents off on holiday story, of course, which Mrs. Hudson thankfully bought into), Sherlock and Maya were walking down the streets of London to the nearest Tesco. After a moment of practically running to keep up with Sherlock’s long strides, Maya caught up to him and placed her tiny hand in his, gripping a few of the fingers on Sherlock’s gloved hand as they walked.

Sherlock’s first instinct was to immediately shake her off, but when he looked down at Maya and saw the satisfied smile on her face, he simply grumbled but didn’t say anything. It was helping her keep up with him, at least.

After spending as little time as possible in the store, with Sherlock asking Maya questions on what food she liked and what type of cereal she wanted, they emerged with several bags of groceries, enough to last at least a few weeks so they could avoid such a ghastly excursion again.

When they returned to Baker Street, Sherlock immediately panicked when he saw Lestrade walking up to the door. Just as he was about to knock, Greg saw Sherlock approaching and waved.

Sherlock took a deep breath before he reached the door and said casually, “I wasn’t expecting to see you here today. Why didn’t you just send me a text?”

Greg made a face. “Well I was in the neighborhood and wanted to talk to you about a few cases, so I figured I may as well stop by…” he trailed off, his eyes moving to Maya, who was quietly standing at Sherlock’s side holding the lightest bag of groceries, looking up at Lestrade curiously.

“And who’s this?” Lestrade said, smiling down at Maya. “Starting ‘em young now, are you Sherlock? She looks a bit young to be your assistant.”

Sherlock sighed and shook his head. “No, she’s not my assistant. This is Maya, my cousin’s daughter. Her parents are away on holiday and I agreed to watch her for them.”

Lestrade laughed. “You, in charge of a child? Are you sure her parents were mentally stable when they made that decision?”

Sherlock gave him a fake smile. “Very funny. I can take care of her just fine, thank you. Isn’t that right, Maya?” Sherlock was getting defensive now, and he wasn’t sure why. Even he believed he couldn’t properly take care of Maya, but just because everyone else thought he couldn’t either, he had the sudden urge to prove them wrong.

Maya nodded. “Right,” she said confidently to Lestrade, jutting out her jaw.

Greg laughed and shook his head. “Alright, well do you have a minute to talk business then?”

Sherlock nodded. “Of course. Come up to the flat.”

The next week went relatively smoothly with Maya. She was content on entertaining herself, and besides the fact that she could be overly talkative and ramble on about meaningless things, she wasn’t entirely horrible to live with. It was annoying to have to feed her regularly like she was some kind of strange pet, but for the first time in his life Sherlock was on a somewhat normal eating schedule because of it.

She didn’t have nightmares often, but when she did, they stuck with their routine of warm milk or hot chocolate and a bedtime story, and it worked each time without fail. On days where Sherlock had thought she had been particularly well behaved, he would even treat her with a story before her regular bedtime as well.

Sherlock learned how to take care of Maya from Maya herself. She would tell him how Irene would do things and what her normal routines were, and slowly Sherlock started learning how to be a parent. It wasn’t easy, and he often snapped at her and lost his temper more often than he would have liked, but Maya never seemed to hold it against him when he did.

She was highly intelligent for a three year old, and had this strange air about her that Sherlock couldn’t comprehend. She could even hold some remnants of a conversation at times. Maya was always observing the world around her with those sharp blue eyes, reminding Sherlock of the way he did the same in an almost Twilight Zone manner.

She also seemed to be completely enamored with Sherlock, though he didn’t understand why. Maybe it was because she was missing her mother’s affections, but she constantly wanted to be near him at all times and often caught him off guard with hugs and hand holding almost daily. Despite the fact that she had just been dumped with a man she had never met and been told that he was her father, she seemed entirely optimistic and gleeful about the situation. Sherlock showed her almost no signs of affection in return—half the time he treated her with indifference as he did with most people—yet she seemed to love spending time with him, even when it was just him at his laptop and her across the room on the sofa with her toys.

Because he still had work to do and Mrs. Hudson wasn’t always available for babysitting, Sherlock was forced to bring Maya with him whenever he went to St. Bart’s or needed to stop by Scotland Yard to talk to Lestrade.

Molly did a double take the first time Sherlock walked into the morgue with Maya clinging to his hand, and for a moment Sherlock was afraid she suspected something, but Molly never said a word to him if she did. Maya took a liking to Molly immediately, perhaps happy to be around a woman who could be her mother’s age after dealing with only Sherlock or Mrs. Hudson day and night.

Sherlock couldn’t help but crack a small smile at the conversations Maya started with Molly as he bent over a microscope studying some slides. She asked her about her hair and what kind of perfume she used, and Molly smiled and answered all of her questions thoroughly, despite the fact that it was most likely frowned upon to have three year old girls in the morgue.

By the end of the following week, Sherlock was beginning to fall into a comfortable routine with Maya, and he was starting to think that fatherhood wasn’t actually that bad. Each morning, Maya would wake up and find Sherlock, either in the living room where he had stayed up the night before, or in his bedroom, and he would make her breakfast. She would ramble on about something or other while he had his toast and coffee and half-listened to her as he read the newspaper, and eventually she would venture back to her room to get dressed. Later she would return to the living room and amuse herself with her toys, which were beginning to accumulate around the sofa and was making 221B really look like a toddler lived there.

Throughout the day, Maya would usually keep to herself, finding out quickly that Sherlock preferred not to be disturbed with meaningless questions while he worked. Sometimes they would go out of the flat to run errands for Sherlock, which had to have been boring for her, but she never once complained. Then at night they would return to the flat, Sherlock would make dinner for Maya, and he would sit her in front of the television for a few hours while he continued to work. Eventually Maya would yawn and sleepily tug on Sherlock’s sleeve to tell him that she was ready to go to bed, and he would help her upstairs and tuck her in, sometimes with a bedtime story if he was feeling particularly generous.

Although at times she was more of an unnecessary nuisance than anything else, life wasn’t half bad for Sherlock now that he had a daughter. He thought he was doing well with the whole ordeal, considering his sociopathic tendencies at times and his revulsion at children in general.

Maya seemed to recognize that Sherlock was a bit unique as well. “You’re not like other grown-ups,” she said to him one day over breakfast.

“Hmm?” he replied, glancing at her from over his newspaper.

“You’re not mean, just different. You don’t do things the way Mommy does.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and put down the paper to take a sip of coffee. “Is that a bad thing?” he asked before he raised the mug to his lips.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Because I know you’re trying really hard to be my dad.”

Sherlock stared at her for a moment. Maya simply grinned and took a bite of her cereal.

The next day, Sherlock was trying to pass the time by doing some research on updating his tobacco ash collection while he waited for another case to pop up from Lestrade, when Maya walked up to the edge of the desk and said, “Will you watch a movie with me?”

Sherlock looked up from his laptop and raised an eyebrow. “And why would I do that?”

“Because I’m bored. And I know you’re bored too.”

Sherlock smiled a little at that. She wasn’t wrong. “Alright. What film would you suggest?”

Maya smiled. “ _Lilo and Stitch_!”

He sighed. Irene had warned him that it was her favorite film, and he supposed that he would have to watch it sooner or later. “Fair enough,” he replied. He had nothing better to do.

Lilo and Stitch was indeed on Netflix, which Sherlock only had on his computer because John had used it once and never signed out of his account. So he took his laptop to the sofa and placed it in front of Maya then sat down behind her with a cup of tea.

Ten minutes into the movie, Maya crawled into Sherlock’s lap. He thought about shoving her off but decided he didn’t really mind that much, so he allowed her to stay, curled up into his chest, her head resting against his sternum.

Within a half hour, Sherlock was actually engrossed in the movie and was enjoying it more than he thought he would. He was so focused on it that he didn’t notice when John walked into the flat and stopped at the edge of the coffee table.

“Sherlock?” he said carefully, taking in the detective and small child sitting on the sofa together watching a movie on Sherlock’s laptop.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets Maya for the first time and realizes Sherlock is in way over his head with this parenting business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is mainly dialogue! I'm still trying to figure out where exactly I'm taking this story and how long it's going to be and such, so this chapter is kind of an easy way to get some more of it posted and get John meeting Maya out of the way. Hopefully the next chapter will be more exciting, but I hope you all enjoy it all the same! 
> 
> Thanks for the continued support on this, it's my first long-term project and I feel like I'm flailing a bit, but it's nice knowing I have so many wonderful readers already. <3 <3

Sherlock’s head whipped up at the sound of John’s voice and he nearly jostled Maya onto the floor with his jolt of surprise. She looked up at Sherlock for a moment then turned her head to John, her eyes assessing him silently.

“John!” Sherlock finally managed, pausing the movie and jumping up to take Maya off his lap. He stood, smoothing down his dress pants and wrapping his dressing gown tighter around him. “I thought you were on holiday…You weren’t due back for a few more days.” He smiled somewhat hysterically at John, trying to pretend that everything was normal, everything was just fine.

John hadn’t taken his eyes off of Maya, who was now looking back and forth between the two men. “Something came up and Mary had to get back, so we ended it a bit early…Sherlock, what’s going on?” he asked, pointing to Maya on the sofa. She looked back at him, not saying anything.

Sherlock sighed and ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping slightly. So much for normal. “It’s…it’s a long story. But this is Maya,” he said, gesturing to the three year old. “And she’s…she is my daughter.”

“Your _what_?” John replied, his jaw practically dropping onto the floor.

“My daughter. She is three and a half years old and, uh…she was conceived the night I rescued Irene Adler from execution at a terrorist cell in Pakistan.” He said it quickly, avoiding John’s gaze and bracing himself for what was to come.

“But Irene Adler is dead,” John said, his eyebrows furrowing.

“No she’s not. She would have been, if I hadn’t intervened. But no, she’s not dead. She is very much alive, so much so that she showed up here about three weeks ago with Maya and told me that she was going off to Russia for a few months to take care of some things, and asked me to take care of our daughter while she was away.”

“You’re telling me this is your child? The child you had with The Woman? You have got to be joking.” He laughed out loud, shaking his head in disbelief.

Sherlock shook his head and looked at John seriously. “I wish I was,” he said quietly.

John’s smile immediately faded and his eyes widened. He ran a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.”

They both turned their heads to look at Maya, who was simply sitting on the sofa looking back at them.

Sherlock cleared his throat. “Maya, this is my very good friend John Watson. John, Maya. Maya, John.”

“Oh yeah. You’re the army doctor,” she said, and Sherlock flushed slightly when John raised an eyebrow at him. “Hi, John. Nice to meet you.”

John smiled a little at her. “Pleased to meet you too, Maya.”

A moment of awkward silence followed and Sherlock cleared his throat again then quickly pressed the play button for the movie before swiftly walking into the kitchen. John immediately turned on his heel and followed him. Maya watched them go but turned back to the film, curling up against the sofa cushions and resting her head on her arm.

“You’ve had a child for three years and you didn’t tell me? What the hell, Sherlock?” John hissed at him in a low voice once he reached the kitchen.

“I promise you, I had no knowledge of her conception. I met her for the first time three weeks ago, the same time I learned of her very existence.”

“How could you not know? Did you—did you even think to use protection? Jesus, Sherlock, I figured you were inexperienced, but…” he paused, looking up at Sherlock. He flushed slightly, as if embarrassed by what he had just said. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t even…I don’t even know what to say.”

Sherlock leaned against the counter and exhaled slowly, crossing his arms. He stared down at the ground intently, focusing on a stain on the floor. “I know. There’s no need to scold me. I am fully aware of what I did. And now I am suffering the consequences. But I swear to you that I hadn’t been in contact with her since Pakistan. I honestly thought she had gone off somewhere in Europe and just decided to go her own way. It never really bothered me that we stopped speaking. But I never guessed…I never thought this would be the reason why.”

John shook his head and sighed. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised it was Irene Adler though.”

Sherlock lifted his head to give John a puzzled look. “What are you implying?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just…that I knew you fancied her, that’s all.” John averted his eyes.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Please. It was more of an experiment than anything else, really. There wasn’t much emotional attachment involved, trust me. I’m not completely sure why I went through with it. Granted, I was curious…to see what all the fuss was about. But it doesn’t really matter because it happened, and now I’m a father.” He choked on the last word as the realization hit him like a punch in the stomach once again.

John nodded slowly, as if it was taking him time to process what he was hearing. “I believe some tea is in order,” he announced after a moment of silence. Sherlock snorted. That was the most British thing John could have said in that moment.

Sherlock watched John walk around the kitchen, fixing the tea as if he was still living there. He obviously hadn’t moved much around since John had left, and John still remembered where mugs, tea and sugar were. He made a comment about being surprised that there was milk in the fridge and Sherlock managed to smile a little.

“John I’m…I’m absolutely terrified,” Sherlock whispered suddenly as John began to pour tea into the mugs. He paused and looked up at Sherlock with what he hoped was a sympathetic expression on his face.

“I don’t know what I’m doing. As much as I didn’t want her in the first place, Maya is so innocent and so trusting and…and I’m afraid I’m going to screw her up. I don’t want this responsibility. What am I supposed to do with her?” His vision had begun to blur with tears and maybe it was because it was John, but the words just kept flowing.

“And I keep doing things wrong and I know everything I do is a bit not good but I am honestly trying. I don’t know why I am, but she’s…she’s my daughter. The word wouldn’t have meant anything to me a few months ago, but I just…I want to get this right.” He looked up at John, his eyes filled with tears. “What should I do, John?”

John moved closer to Sherlock, crossing the room and leaning on a chair next to him. “Hey, I’m sure you’re doing just fine. You’re not terrible with kids. Archie took a liking to you at the wedding.”

Sherlock shook his head. “That was different. Archie wasn’t three years old and my child. I could give him back after a few hours. I showed him murder case files, for god’s sake.”

Suddenly Sherlock slammed his fist into the counter in frustration, cutting off John from whatever he was about to say. “I didn’t ask for this, John! I didn’t ask for her!” he shouted a little louder than necessary, and John winced and looked behind him, hoping Maya hadn’t heard his outburst.

John took a step forward and placed a comforting hand on his arm. “Sherlock, calm down. It’s going to be fine. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Sherlock turned away, crossing his arms and frowning. “Oh, so you and Mary are going to babysit for me once a week? How touching.”

John sighed, exasperated. He dropped his arm. “No, but I’m going to be here for you and help you in any way I can.”

At that, Sherlock felt a sharp sting of pain in his chest. “Yes, just like you always have,” he said sarcastically, refusing to meet John’s eyes.

Things had been different between them since the wedding; neither of them could deny it. John had practically been avoiding Sherlock and hadn’t come around the flat for at least two months before he told Sherlock he was going on holiday with Mary for a few weeks. Sherlock knew the two of them growing apart for good was inevitable, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

He had been mentally preparing himself for it the day he heard of John’s engagement. Sherlock was no longer the most important thing in John’s life. He knew that. It didn’t make it any easier once the time came for him to watch John marry the woman of his dreams. It was all he could do to simply watch it happen and give John his final good-bye in the form of the waltz he had composed specifically for John and Mary’s first dance as husband and wife.

And the night of the wedding, Sherlock had tried his best to tell John “I love you” with his eyes, knowing it might be his last chance to say it. From the heartbroken look on John’s face he had received in response that lasted only a second and was gone by the time he smiled back at Mary, Sherlock thought John had heard him, but he was never completely sure.

Sherlock knew he was being ridiculous and immature and childish. He knew he had no right to want John, to lust after him in silence as he had done for years. Especially now that John had another life, a life with Mary, not with him. The days of solving cases with John were over.

But John Watson was the one person in his life Sherlock had ever truly loved. John kept him right, and without him, he felt lost and confused. Maya couldn’t have come into his life at a better time, in some ways. She gave him a distraction from thinking about John constantly.

And by the look on John’s face in that moment in the kitchen, Sherlock knew that John knew. He had always known. And if he hadn’t, the madness surrounding his wedding had finally opened his eyes to the fact that Sherlock was in love with him. With the flurry of activity that was Sherlock’s return, followed by plans for John’s wedding, John and Sherlock had become closer than ever. On John’s stag night, they had come dangerously close to doing something they shouldn’t have. And Sherlock’s best man speech was practically a declaration of love in itself, something John had a feeling some of the wedding guests were not entirely blind to.  

In summary, Sherlock and John’s relationship was a mess. They were both aware of it, but each of them was hoping for the other to do something about it. And both of them were so terrible at expressing their feelings that neither of them were about to start picking up the pieces just yet. It was possible they didn’t exactly know how to.

It took John a moment to formulate a response to Sherlock’s comment. He squared his shoulders and looked ready to shout an angry quip back at him but then got ahold of his temper and took a deep breath instead. “Sherlock, please don’t take this out on me,” he said in a low voice.

Sherlock just shrugged nonchalantly, still refusing to look at John.

“I know…” he sighed, taking another breath. “I know things have been different between us since the wedding. I know we haven’t seen each other as much as we should have these past few months, and I know the fact that I’m busy with work and with Mary is no excuse. I’m sorry, Sherlock. I know you’re frustrated and upset right now, okay? You have every reason to be. Look at me.”

Sherlock stared at a spot on the kitchen table instead.

“Sherlock, please. Look at me.” John said the words softly yet insistently.

Finally Sherlock sighed and turned his head to John, his heart skipping a beat as he looked back at those calm blue eyes. “I know I’ve been a shitty friend to you recently, and I’m sorry. But when I say that you don’t have to do this alone, I’m serious. I am going to help you in whatever way I can. To make up for these past few months. Okay?”

Sherlock swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “Okay,” he said quietly.

John then stepped forward and engulfed Sherlock in an awkward embrace that lasted only a second before he pulled away, clearing his throat and putting his fists at his sides.

A moment of silence fell between them. Sherlock sipped his tea thoughtfully. The faint sound of the movie playing could be heard from the living room.

“Bloody hell,” John said finally, exhaling deeply. “Sherlock Holmes, a father. Never thought I’d see the day. Does she call you Daddy?” he asked, smiling teasingly at Sherlock.

“Oh god no,” Sherlock scoffed. “I don’t allow her to.”

John laughed and shook his head. “Why does that not surprise me? So what do you…do with her? Besides apparently watching Netflix on the couch.”

Sherlock made a face. “That was just today. I was bored. I don’t really do anything differently, to be honest. I just go along with my day as I would normally, except I drag Maya with me everywhere. And sometimes I read her bedtime stories.”

John smiled. “Now that’s something I’d pay to see. Do you do voices for all the characters?”

“Yes, how did you know?” Sherlock asked, incredulous.

The look on Sherlock’s face made John laugh out loud. “You really don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maya meets Mary and Mycroft, while Sherlock begins to realize how much he actually enjoys having her around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since the last update! I think I've finally settled on a direction I want to take this fic, so hopefully updates will be more regular from now on. Mycroft and Mary make an appearance in this chapter, so I hope everyone enjoys that and I promise more exciting chapters are to come in the very near future! Happy reading! 
> 
> As always, I am open to any and all comments, feedback or suggestions! Thanks!

The following month, John kept his promise to Sherlock. He came by the flat as often as he could, answered all of Sherlock’s questions and concerns about taking care of Maya, as he had a nephew her age and roughly knew how to entertain a three year old.

One night even dragged both Sherlock and Maya to his house to have dinner with him and Mary. Sherlock hadn’t wanted to go in the first place and kept grumbling to John how he should be working on his current case, but John eventually pulled him out of the flat by the sleeve of his jacket and shoved him into a cab, insisting that he would have fun with them tonight. Once they were eating dinner and Mary was asking Sherlock about his latest case, his mood improved significantly and John gave him a smug look that said, _I told you so, you annoying git_.

John’s heart swelled when he watched Mary with Maya and realized how great of a mother Mary would be someday when they chose to have their own family. It gave him an unexpected amount of comfort about the prospect of his future parenthood with Mary, and he had a feeling that somehow they were going to be just fine, despite the fact that the mere thought of children a few months before left him feeling sick to his stomach. He found himself hoping they would have a pregnancy to announce by the end of the year. After all, if Sherlock could take care of Maya somewhat decently on his own, certainly he and Mary could raise a baby just as well.

Mary was one of the few people in the world Sherlock actually tolerated, mostly because she didn’t put up with his rudeness and threw everything right back at him, a feat not many people were willing to undertake. They had gotten along beautifully since the wedding, and Sherlock felt a little less heartbroken knowing John was married to someone like Mary. If she was good enough for John, she was good enough for him too, despite the sharp stabs of pain he felt in his chest each time they showed any signs of affection in front of him.

Mary kept Sherlock in check but also respected how much he and John meant to each other, and she was always willing to give them the space they needed to do what they had to do. She had always had this way of knowing when her boys were in trouble, and she was always ready to step back and allow them to work it out on their own. Things between John and Sherlock were better now that they were spending time together again, but there were still so many unspoken things between them that the whole situation was still uncomfortable on both sides. John's marriage wasn't supposed to lodge a gap between them, but here they were. Feelings were not their strong suit, and Mary was starting to think she would have to practically smash their heads together to get them to talk things out and acknowledge that things were far from alright.

Maya loved Mary as well and took a liking to her even more than Molly. She adored talking to her about anything and everything and was very unwilling to pull herself away from the coloring book she and Mary had been working on when it was time for her and Sherlock to catch a cab back home. When she and Sherlock returned to Baker Street late that night after dinner, Maya practically falling asleep while she walked up the stairs in front of Sherlock, she immediately asked him when they would see Mary again. Sherlock smiled and replied, “I’m sure Mary would be happy to babysit you later this week, I’ll just ask John if it’s alright.”

The day after the dinner at John and Mary’s house, Sherlock was ecstatic after solving a case he had been given just a few days previously. He had initially thought it would take a week of intense work and holing himself up in his room with nicotine patches all over his arms in order to solve it, but an essential clue had floated right into his lap that morning and the answers became clear as day. He immediately rushed to Scotland Yard to deliver the verdict to Lestrade in a dramatic flourish, as was his way. Lestrade thanked him countless times as he always did, and Sherlock simply smiled, took a moment to gloat in Donovan’s face, then with a smug little wave was out the door, ushering Maya out in front of him.

Perhaps it was a result of his good mood after the high of solving a case, but Sherlock decided to be particularly generous and take Maya to a park after they bought some fish and chips for lunch. He had never taken her to a park before, but he knew of one with a playground that he had enjoyed playing at as a child, and she had been so well-behaved recently that she enjoyed a good day as much as he did. So they sat down on an empty bench right across from the playground and ate their fish and chips, bundling up against the slightly chilly October air.

After she ate her meal, Maya ran off onto the playground, grinning widely. Sherlock felt a temporary pang of guilt at her excitement, realizing he had kept her stuffed up in the flat for nearly the entire two months he had been taking care of her. He also realized when he did the math quickly in his head that her fourth birthday would be in just two more months. As he thought about what exactly the proper way to acknowledge a four year old’s birthday was and kept a close eye on Maya as she ran around in circles with the other children, a voice interrupted his thoughts.

“How old is she?” A woman in a bright red jumper with long black hair had sat down on the other side of the bench from Sherlock and was smiling at him as she asked the question.

“Pardon?” Sherlock replied, trying to fathom why this stranger felt the need to be speaking to him.

“Your daughter. How old is she?” the woman asked, gesturing with a gloved hand to the playground.

“Three, almost four,” he replied cautiously. This woman’s constant happiness was unsettling. He shifted on the bench slightly, pulling his coat around him tighter and popping up the collar. Maybe if he looked unfriendly enough she would leave him alone.

“Ah, that’s a fun age. Mine’s almost seven. But I’ve got a boy. Jason.” She paused, still smiling, eying Sherlock. “Are you married?”

Sherlock shot her a menacing look. She was attempting to be quite personal for someone she didn’t even know. “No,” he replied flatly. This woman was getting on his nerves.

“Me either. Divorced, actually. Jason’s father was a complete arsehole, to be honest. So good riddens, you know?” she laughed, and Sherlock gave her a fake smile but didn’t respond.

“Oh I’m sorry, I just realized I didn’t catch your name. I’m Julie,” she said, extending her hand.

Sherlock turned his head to her and calculated in less than two seconds that this woman was attempting to flirt with him. She was at least offering herself to him, pointing out that she was single—just like him—constantly smiling at him, the slight blush on her cheeks obviously wasn’t because of the cold, the way she kept fidgeting with her hair and was trying to shift closer to him on the bench; this woman was interested and wanted desperately for him to show some kind of interest in return.

Judging by the look in her eyes and the way she was awkwardly shifting on the bench, he estimated that it had been at least six months since this woman had had sex and was desperate to remedy that. Apparently with him, if she got lucky enough. Sherlock understood that he was somehow aesthetically pleasing to women; John had always grumbled about how women thought that Sherlock was more attractive than him, although Sherlock couldn’t fathom why.

He knew his eyes stood out against his dark hair and he had nice high cheekbones, plus women always seemed to like taller men, but he still didn’t understand why all of those things made women fall at his feet like this, especially with his personality. He found it all rather annoying, to be honest, and he didn’t have time for it. He wasn’t interested in women and yet they always managed to interfere with his work; it wasn’t his fault if they apparently found him attractive.

A few years ago, he wouldn’t be able to pick up on such advances, but spending enough time with John and watching him with all of his ex-girlfriends and with Mary, plus the way Molly acted around him constantly, had given Sherlock some much needed insight on these sorts of things.

Sherlock laughed and shook his head at her outstretched hand, crossing his arms and slouching slightly into the bench. “Oh Julie, you should really stop trying to find a boyfriend at the park. I mean, the playground, really? You think you can just get a date for tonight while your son plays on the swing set? Hoping for a one night stand with a hot dad? How desperate are you? It’s pathetic, really. And you’re wasting your time with me. You are definitely not my type, even if I wanted to engage in such savage practices. How about the next time you try luring a single father into your clutches, don’t use your own child as a pickup line?”

Julie stared at Sherlock for a moment, open-mouthed, apparently unable to form a response.

After a moment, she sputtered, “I don’t even—you— _you_ are a complete and utter _arsehole_. Piss off, you wanker!” before standing up and storming off onto the playground, where she immediately grabbed her son by the arm and led him towards the parking lot.

Sherlock chuckled humorlessly to himself and muttered, “So I’ve been told.”

A minute later, another voice behind him made him let out a groan.

“Whatever did you say to that nice woman to make her react like that? I’m sure she meant well.” Mycroft plopped down on the bench next to Sherlock, casually crossing his legs and looking at his younger brother questionably.

Sherlock scoffed. “She meant to get me into her bedroom. I wouldn’t touch that woman with a ten foot pole, clothed or otherwise.”

“Ah yes, you are ever the Romeo, brother dear.”

“Oh, like you have any experience in the subject,” Sherlock quipped.

Mycroft shrugged. “Now is not the time nor the place for such details about my personal life, as I’m sure you would agree.”

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. He sat up straight and stuffed his hands into his pockets, turning his head to Mycroft and giving him the most annoyed look he could manage. “What do you want, Mycroft? I don’t have time for your ill attempts at humor.”

“Oh, I was just a little offended that I haven’t yet been introduced to my niece, that’s all.”

Sherlock froze and narrowed his eyes. “Who told you?”

“Gregory happened to let it slip that you had gained a new companion in the past few months, and the fact that it was a small child peaked my interest. One look at the girl combined with your reaction just now just confirmed my suspicions. Who is the mother?”

Sherlock sighed loudly and ran a hand over his face. “Irene Adler,” he replied quietly.

When Mycroft was actually silent for a moment, Sherlock turned his head to look at his brother, who was wearing a slightly confused expression on his face.

“Interesting. I thought she was executed in Pakistan? Unless…oh, Sherlock, you didn’t.” Sherlock’s silence spoke for him. Mycroft exhaled and shook his head. “And here I thought The Woman couldn’t possibly get you into any more trouble.”

Just then, Maya came bounding up to the bench from the playground, her hair windswept and her cheeks flushed from the cool air, a massive grin on her face.

“They have swings!” she said excitedly to Sherlock when she ran up to him. She grasped one of his hands and began pulling him towards the playground impatiently.

“Maya, wait a moment,” Sherlock said. She stopped and looked at him. “This is my brother, your Uncle Mycroft. He wanted to meet you.”

Maya turned to Mycroft and studied him carefully. She turned back to Sherlock. “He’s your brother?”

Sherlock nodded. She turned back to Mycroft and held out her hand to him. After a moment of surprise, he took it and shook her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Mike,” she said.

“Mycroft,” he corrected.

“Mysoft.”

“No. _My_. _Croft_.” he replied.

“Myloft.”

Mycroft sighed. “Mike will have to do then. Close enough.”

Sherlock bit his lip to hold back his laugher. “Thanks Uncle Mike,” he said sarcastically, unable to hold back a mocking grin.

Mycroft glared at him. “What exactly do you intend to do with her, Sherlock?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that? She’s my daughter. I’m taking care of her until her mother returns. After that, I’m not sure. But for now, she’s here to stay. So you can kindly piss off.”

Mycroft shook his head. “You can’t expect to keep her safe forever, little brother. You have enemies that will not hesitate to use her against you. I’d hate to see you or Maya get hurt.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to stop from happening in the first place? What else is your CCTV and government power good for?”

Mycroft gave Sherlock a sad smile. “I told you not to get involved, Sherlock. This won’t be the last time you’ll regret following my advice.”

“Swings!” Maya whined, pulling on Sherlock’s hand again. He nodded at her and stood, taking her hand and looking at Mycroft.

“Since when did I ever listen to you in the first place? And this isn’t getting involved. It’s a little late for that anyway, as I’m sure you already know. Now if you don’t mind, my daughter wants to play on the swings. Good day, Mycroft.”

And without another glance back, Sherlock allowed Maya to drag him towards the swing sets.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maya gets hurt and both John and Sherlock realize how much this little girl means to Sherlock. (also: Doctor Watson to the rescue!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully I'm being a little more regular with posting this! I've finally got a good plan going for this fic and I think I've worked it out to be about 10 chapters long. 
> 
> If you've been with me for this long, thank you for sticking around and I hope you enjoy the rest of the fic! As always, any comments, suggestions and any feedback whatsoever are all appreciated! Thanks guys! :)

The next month passed uneventfully and proved to be a slow month for cases. Sherlock spent more time than usual with Maya and watched Netflix with her on cold rainy days more often than ever to pass the time between cases. He accepted the fact that he couldn’t will a case to appear out of thin air (no matter how hard he did try) so he settled on spending more time with Maya while he waited for Lestrade to call him.

Irene had been updating him periodically with her progress, as promised, but the updates seemed to be coming less and less as November wore on, which worried Sherlock more than he liked. She was making progress, slowly but surely, but the whole affair had proved to be more complicated than she thought originally.

It was dangerous too, which is why she had been so spotty with her contact throughout the month; she was currently hiding out in a small Russian village with a few allies who promised to keep her safe, but she was still much further away from finishing her business than she thought she would be by this time. It was almost December now, about a month before Maya’s birthday, and Irene was unlikely to be home by Christmas.

Maya asked about her mother frequently and was never satisfied with the vague answers Sherlock gave her. She wouldn’t understand the real reason her mother had been away the past five months anyway. As much as he tried to be, Sherlock couldn’t be two parents for her. He only had a vague idea of Irene and Maya’s relationship, but what he did know was that it was a much more affectionate one than he was willing to give Maya with their own relationship.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care for Maya—in fact, he was realizing more each day that he cared about Maya more than he ever thought he would for a child—but that he showed it in different ways. Making her a decent home cooked meal instead of take away or rewarding her with a bedtime story each night was as good as a hug and a kiss from Sherlock Holmes.

She still insisted on hugs goodnight and always grabbed his hand when they were out in public, but Maya appeared to be accepting of all her father’s quirks and peculiarities. Sherlock was constantly surprised by her exceptional intelligence and perceptiveness for a child her age, but it was something that filled him with a sense of pride to have managed to produce such a child, although he would never admit it to anyone else, especially not Mycroft.

The elder Holmes brother had taken it upon himself to check on Sherlock and Maya periodically, stopping by the flat at least once a week to bother Sherlock incessantly until he was practically thrown out the window. Sherlock was getting tired of Mycroft’s warnings and scolding regarding Maya and wished he would just leave them in peace. He was already aware enough of the fact that he was not the best father in the world, despite how much he had been improving with John’s help and encouragement the past few months. It was hard to believe that he had been watching Maya for almost six months now.

One day in early December, Sherlock was busy with an experiment in the kitchen when he heard a loud crash from the living room that made him almost drop his glass slides onto the floor. A second later he heard Maya let out a quiet wail and shout “Sherlock!” in a voice thick with tears.

Without hesitation he bolted into the room and froze, his heart nearly stopping at the sight of Maya on the floor by the sofa, the coffee table flipped over and broken glass shards surrounding her. She appeared to be bleeding heavily out of a large gash in her left arm and had some cuts on her face. She reached out a hand for Sherlock, sobbing and holding her injured arm with her healthy one. For a moment he just stared at her, apparently forgetting how to move his limbs.

“Daddy…please,” she said in a small voice, and Sherlock finally came to his senses.

“Maya,” he breathed, rushing to her side and gently helping her sit up. “What did you do?”

“I was standing on the table and then I fell and hurt my arm. It hurts really bad,” she said, pulling herself into Sherlock’s arms as he knelt on the floor beside her.

“Why did you do that? You’re bleeding so much. Oh god you’re bleeding. Oh no. I don’t—I can’t—hold on, just…um—just stay here and don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Sherlock stumbled back into the kitchen, quickly located his phone and managed to dial John’s number with trembling fingers. He tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for him to answer.

“Hey Sherlock,” said the voice on the other end of the phone.

“John,” said Sherlock desperately. “Maya’s hurt. She’s bleeding and she might need stitches and I don’t know what to do and there’s blood and glass everywhere and I didn’t know who to else to call…” he paused, taking a deep breath. “Please, can you come? I need you.”

“I’ll be there as quick as I can,” John responded without hesitation. “If she’s bleeding heavily, get a towel and put pressure on it to stop the flow. On my way.”

Once Sherlock got ahold of himself, he rushed down the hallway to the bathroom, where he grabbed a small towel, then sprinted back out into the living room where Maya was still sitting on the floor, holding her arm and sniffling.

“John’s coming,” he said to her, picking her up off the ground and placing her on the edge of the sofa. He knelt down on his knees in front of her and immediately pressed the towel to her arm.

She cried out and tried to pull her arm away but Sherlock held it in place. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But I need to stop the blood. Please, just hold still.”

Maya sniffled but obeyed, watching Sherlock with big eyes. Fifteen minutes later, John burst into the flat, carrying his medical bag.

“Oh thank god,” Sherlock couldn’t stop himself from saying when he saw John.

Without a word, John moved the tipped over coffee table aside and knelt down on the ground in front of Maya. Sherlock immediately moved to the side, standing up and giving John space to work. He stood to the side of the sofa and crossed his arms, biting his lower lip and pacing about the living room worriedly as he watched John do his job.

John inspected Maya’s bloodied arm quickly, estimating the severity of the gash. “Yeah, she’s going to need stitches. It’s quite deep.”

He then pulled out his supplies, first gently cleaning off her arm with an antiseptic and rinsing it with alcohol. He picked out the bits of glass still on her arm from the fall with tweezers, where she had managed to land on top of an empty glass jar from a past experiment of Sherlock’s that had been sitting on the table, crushing it into pieces and having a large chunk of it slash through her arm.

She tried to pull her arm away and shouted at the stinging sensation, but John just quietly shushed her, saying, “I know it stings, I’m sorry. But it will be over soon. Just sit still for me, love.”

But because she was only three years old and it did legitimately hurt, she tried to yank her arm away again when John began to put the first stitch in, and she started crying again. “No! Stop,” she mumbled, moving away from John, tears streaming down her face.

John sighed. “Sherlock, can you hold her in your lap while I do this? She’s not cooperating.”

Sherlock nodded and sat down on the sofa, placing Maya on top of his thighs and snaking a hand around her middle to hold her in place. With the other hand he brushed some of the hair out of her eyes and wiped away her tears.

“It’s alright, Maya,” he murmured. “I know you’re scared and I bet it hurts quite a bit, but John’s trying to help you. Sit still for him the best you can. He’s a doctor; he knows how to make it better.”

He felt her nod against his chest and then she finally offered her arm to John, who was looking up at Sherlock with a somewhat dazed expression on his face.

John then began the stitches again, going carefully but quickly and efficiently, being as gentle as possible. To prevent Maya from trying to move again, Sherlock offered her his hand, which she gripped tightly in her own, squeezing with every stitch and sniffling. He knew she was trying not to cry and trying to be strong for him, but he wanted it to be over just as much as she did. He wrapped his arm around her even more protectively as John came to the end of the stitches.

John then quickly placed a bandage over them and exhaled, looking up at Maya and smiling. “All done. And you did so well,” he added, squeezing her left hand gently. He pulled out a lollipop from his bag and handed it to her. “You’re very brave. Just like your father.” John looked up at Sherlock and smiled, and Sherlock felt his face flush a little.

Maya smiled and turned around in Sherlock’s lap to face him. She hugged him tightly and Sherlock kissed the top of her head gently before setting her down beside him on the sofa.

“I’ll get something to clean this up,” he said and turned to walk into the kitchen to look for the broom and dust pan. John followed him. Maya sat on the couch, dangling her legs off the edge and happily sucking on her lollipop.

Sherlock almost dropped the broom when he turned around to see John standing directly in front of him, blocking his path. He cleared his throat nervously. “Erm, thank you, John. I really appreciate it.”

“You really love that little girl, don’t you?” John said, ignoring Sherlock’s statement.

Sherlock sighed. “In a way, yes. She’s grown on me. She is my daughter, after all,” he replied, shrugging casually. He tried to walk past John but was stopped with a firm hand on his chest.

“But you? Sherlock Holmes, care about anyone? Especially a child? That’s unheard of.”

“No it’s not. I care about you,” he blurted out before he realized what he was saying. He tried to cover it up like he hadn’t just professed his love for John. “And, erm, Mary. And Mrs. Hudson. And probably other people. It’s not that unusual.”

John smiled slightly and shook his head, dropping his hand from Sherlock’s chest. “This is different. And I know you care about me, you idiot. But I’ve never seen you like this before. Maya has done you some good. You seem…different. In a good way. Happier. More relaxed.”

“Please. She hasn’t changed me in the slightest,” Sherlock scoffed.

“Says the man who frantically called me on the phone an hour ago because his daughter was bleeding,” John said teasingly, raising an eyebrow.

“Well what was I supposed to do?” Sherlock asked, his face reddening again. “I couldn’t take her to the hospital. They would…they would figure out that she was my daughter.”

John smiled and shook his head again. “Whatever you say, Sherlock.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pushed past John, walking into the living room and sweeping up the bits of glass with the broom.

He looked up at Maya, who was sitting on the sofa watching him. “No more climbing on things, Maya.” He moved the coffee table back to its upright position and looked at her seriously. “What were you doing anyway?”

Maya shrugged. “I was playing a game. The floor was lava. I was winning…but then I fell off the table.”

Sherlock was unable to hold back a smile at that. He shook his head and continued cleaning up the glass, making sure to pick up every little shard he could find.

Afterwards he picked Maya up off the couch and lifted her into his arms. She giggled and wrapped her good arm around his neck. “Don’t scare me like that again. I can’t have you getting hurt. Your mother might kill me if I returned you in anything less than perfect condition.”

Maya nodded, pulling her lollipop out of her mouth for a moment to kiss Sherlock’s cheek. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“Good,” Sherlock replied, kissing her forehead before placing her back onto the sofa.

Sherlock had almost forgotten John was there, he was being so quiet just watching from the doorway of the kitchen, leaning against the wall.

“You are just full of surprises,” John said, shaking his head.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope. Unless I somehow manage to get over the shock of it.”

“Shut up,” Sherlock replied, smiling slightly. “She really is the most tolerable child I’ve ever met.”

“What are you going to do when Irene takes her back? Custody battle? You could switch off on the weekends.”

Sherlock bit his lip. “I haven’t decided yet. Part of me wouldn’t mind Maya living with me for a while, but I highly doubt I could live with her mother too. It’s all very…domestic.”

John laughed. “That is certainly not your area, I know.”

Sherlock smirked. “Speaking of the dullness of domestic life, how is Mary doing? I haven’t spoken to her much since the dinner last month.”

John’s face fell for a moment but then returned to its normal expression. If he thought Sherlock hadn’t seen it, he was wrong. “Oh she’s…you know. Same old Mary. She’s great. We’re great. Just fine.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “John, please. I can tell when you’re lying to me. You’re a terrible liar.”

John shot Sherlock a look and Sherlock just shrugged. John sighed, running a hand through his hair. He glanced over at Maya, who was now busy with a coloring book on the sofa, lollipop still in her mouth.

“We’re…we’re having some issues, at the moment.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything. If John wanted to elaborate, he would. If he didn’t, Sherlock knew not to push him. He didn’t know what to do with these matters in the first place.

“I think Mary might be cheating on me.”

“You’ve been married for nine months.”

“I know. But she’s been acting strange lately. Staying to work late at the clinic, going out more than usual…she’s almost sneaking around, like she’s doing something she doesn’t want me to find out about and…I don’t know what’s going on, but it can’t be good.”

Sherlock was silent for a moment. “Do you…do you want me to look into it?” he offered, not knowing what else to say.

John laughed a little. “Thanks for the offer but no. I can handle it.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds out why Mary has been so secretive lately and returns to Baker Street as Sherlock does his best to help his best friend pick up the pieces. Sherlock attempts to plan a party for Maya's fourth birthday, as that is "what parents are supposed to do," in his opinion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright I lied, this is actually going to be 11 chapters long, the 11th chapter being the epilogue. This is a bit of a long chapter but I hope you like it, it's building up to some exciting things in the next few chapters!
> 
> As always, any comments, feedback or suggestions are appreciated and happy reading! :)

Two weeks later, Sherlock was outdoing himself in his parenting skills by trying to plan a birthday party for Maya’s upcoming fourth birthday, which was in another week and a half. He was on his laptop researching the best ideas for birthday parties for young children and trying to figure out how much it would cost to hire a magician while Maya was taking a nap in his bedroom.

He had just finished solving a two week long case for Lestrade, but the night before needed to stay at the morgue late to figure it out; no one seemed to be available for babysitting Maya overnight, so she was unfortunately stuck with Sherlock while he worked. She had fallen asleep on one of the lab tables in St. Bart’s and Sherlock had to wake her around 5am to take her back home, so she hadn’t gotten much sleep and was such a zombie that morning at breakfast that Sherlock shuffled her into his bedroom and tucked her in to his bed (which he hardly used anyway) around noon so she could get some proper rest.

She had been sleeping for about two hours, and he was planning on waking her in about an hour so she would still be able to go to sleep that night. Almost-four-year-olds were not fit for late night crime solving, Sherlock had learned.

As Sherlock was internally debating whether or not he could make a cake for Maya or if he should just pay a bakery to do it, he heard quick footsteps on the stairs and then whipped his head up to see John burst into the flat, slamming the door behind him.

“I was bloody right! I was bloody right, Sherlock!” John shouted at him. He was panting from the jog up the steps and his face was flushed with anger.

Sherlock immediately recognized his entire demeanor as John’s classic “someone pissed me off and now they’re going to pay” expression, with his fists clenched, jaw tight, and shoulders stiff with anger. He immediately shut his laptop and turned his attention to John.

“What’s going on?” Sherlock asked hesitantly after a moment, hoping that the reason John Watson was out for blood wasn’t him. He mentally went through a list of possible things he could have accidentally said or done to John in the past few weeks that may have made him this angry but came up with nothing.

John turned to Sherlock and bit his lower lip hard, shaking his head. “Mary. She _is_ cheating on me. I was right, Sherlock! I can’t believe this! I can’t fucking believe she would do this to me!” He slammed his fists down on the desk in frustration, making Sherlock jump slightly.

“You’re absolutely certain?” Sherlock replied.

John let out an empty, fake laugh. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head in disbelief. “Well considering the fact that I caught them fucking in my bed—in _my wife and I’s bed_ —just an hour ago, I’d say I’m goddamn certain. And in our own goddamn house, for Christ’s sake!”

“Oh,” was all Sherlock could manage to say in response.

“I came home from the clinic for lunch to surprise Mary. I usually never come home for lunch but thought it would be nice to eat with _my wife_ today, since she had the day off and was home by herself, only to find her with some bloke in our bed! _What the ever-loving fuck_ , yeah?”

Sherlock nodded, not knowing what to say. He decided to just let John scream and yell to let it all out before he tried saying anything else to him. He bit his lip and tried to give John what he hoped was a sympathetic look. John was still in a rage, pacing about the living room in front of Sherlock, flailing his hands in all directions as he spoke. He looked about ready to kill a man, and Sherlock hoped John didn’t decide he looked like an acceptable candidate at the moment.

“So naturally when I catch them, there’s a shouting match so loud as they both scramble for their clothes that I’m sure the neighbors were about to call the police and report a domestic, and I throw the arsehole out of the house by his shirt collar. No idea who he was, never seen him before in my life, so I don’t know where Mary met him, but then again I don’t really fucking care. Mary then tries to tell me that she made a mistake, that it won’t happen again, that she’s sorry and all that kind of shit, and she’s crying and everything just turns into a sodding mess in our bloody kitchen as we scream at each other. And then…then on top of that, Mary says that she’s pregnant, and that it’s probably not mine. Because she’s been with this other bloke for the past three months, and Mary and I have slept together maybe three times in that time, so it’s got to belong to him. _Three bloody months_ , Sherlock! I honestly hoped to god I was wrong about this…but apparently not.”

At the end of his speech, John exhaled and practically deflated, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He walked over to the sofa and collapsed onto it, tilting his head back to the ceiling and taking a deep breath as he closed his eyes. There was a long silence, and Sherlock stayed seated in his chair by the desk, waiting for John to continue.

“I just…I thought Mary was different. I thought she was the perfect woman for me. I thought we were happy. The sudden lack of sex in our life should have been a big warning bell. But I still don’t understand how she could do this to me. To us.” He sighed and shook his head, leaning forward and burying his face in his hands.

After a moment of hesitation, Sherlock stood and walked over to the sofa, sitting down next to John. He placed a hand on John’s arm and squeezed it gently.

“I’m sorry, John. I don’t know what else to say…is there something people are usually supposed to say or do in this kind of situation?”

John raised his head and cracked a smile. He shook his head. “No, just listening to me vent is good enough, Sherlock. Thank you.”

Sherlock nodded and awkwardly patted John’s arm before dropping his hand and staring ahead at the coffee table. He didn’t know what else to say or do. He and John just sat there together on the sofa in silence. Finally John spoke, his voice shaking with emotion.

“I know you may not understand this, Sherlock, but I put _so much_ into my relationship with Mary. I never saw myself as the kind of man who was going to get married and start a family, but with her, I saw that future. She really turned my life around after you…um, fake died. And I put so much effort into our marriage, into making it work, into supporting her, into being a good husband, and I honestly thought I would spend the rest of my life with that woman. I should have known it was too good to be true. I just…I thought we had something that _fucking mattered_ , for once in my life.”

He ran a hand down his face and sighed heavily. “I can be a good boyfriend, but being a good husband is something I have no idea how to do, apparently.”

“That’s not true,” Sherlock said automatically.

John looked over at Sherlock, surprised.

Sherlock blushed slightly and cleared his throat, looking down at his hands. “I just…um, I remember seeing the way you looked at Mary at your wedding…and I knew that anyone you looked at like the way you looked at Mary was going to be lucky to have you as a husband,” Sherlock said quickly. “But then again, I don’t know anything about relationships. It was just…just an observation.” He cleared his throat again and looked away, hoping he hadn’t said too much. He hadn’t realized he had said “anyone” rather than “any woman” until he had said it and just prayed John hadn’t noticed the wording.

John swallowed, staring at Sherlock for a moment longer than necessary. “Thank—thank you. That means a lot, coming from you,” he choked out.

Before John could say anything else, Sherlock stood up and looked down at him. “So I would say that Mary is the one who’s missing out now, John. It’s her loss, honestly. She is clearly the one in the wrong here; you did everything you could.” He smiled slightly at him. “Now for a cup of tea, the ultimate British cure for anything and everything…even lying, cheating wives.”

He smiled again and gave John a wink before striding into the kitchen. John sighed and remained on the sofa, leaning back into the cushions and running a hand over his face.

Sherlock was so busy preparing tea in the kitchen that he hadn’t noticed that Maya had padded out into the living room, sleepily clutching her stuffed kangaroo and wrapped in one of Sherlock’s silk dressing gowns, which was obviously much too big for her and dragged on the floor behind her as she walked.

She saw John sitting on the sofa and walked over to him. He opened one eye and smiled when he saw her engulfed in Sherlock’s dark blue dressing gown. “Hello, love,” he said softly, leaning forward on the sofa and looking at her.

Maya pushed back some of her tangled mess of dark-haired bedhead and smiled a little at John. “Hi. I heard yelling.” She yawned and rubbed her eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to wake you. That was me.”

“Are you mad?” Maya asked, leaning on the side of the sofa as she looked up at John.

John sighed and shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Not anymore, no. I’m done yelling. Sorry I interrupted your nap.”

Maya shrugged. “It’s okay.”

There was a moment of silence between them, and Maya studied her kangaroo carefully while John stared off into space. Finally Maya looked at John and held out her toy to him. He turned his head to her and looked at her curiously.

“Here. His name is Jimmy. I hug him when I’m sad.”

“How do you know that I’m sad?” John replied, taking the toy from her and staring at it.

“Daddy looks like that a lot. He gets sad a lot, especially when you’re not here. It’s okay to be sad. I get sad too sometimes. Like when I miss my mommy.”

John stared at her for a moment. “Your dad gets sad when I’m not here?”

Maya nodded seriously. “Yeah. He’s always really happy whenever we see you, and then after you leave he always gets sad and doesn’t like to talk much.”

John nodded slowly, looking down at the stuffed toy in his hands. “Well thank you. For Jimmy. I might need to get one of these for myself,” he added, smiling down at Maya.

She smiled back and nodded, then climbed up onto the sofa and wrapped her arms around John’s neck, hugging him close to her. After a moment, John slowly placed a hand on Maya’s back and hugged her in response.

He was choking back unexpected tears when she pulled away and said, “I hope you feel better soon. Hugs are good too.” She climbed off his lap and sat down on the sofa next to him, leaning her back against the pillows.

John smiled and nodded at her. “Yeah, me too. Thanks, Maya.” He cleared his throat and then handed Jimmy back to her.

He still found it a bit unnerving how strikingly similar her eyes were to Sherlock’s, and found it even spookier that she managed to constantly watch and observe him the same way he did. Now those blue eyes studied him carefully, as if assessing him with a wisdom beyond her years, managing to be even more observant than Sherlock at times with her highly perceptive nature, at least when it came to people and their emotions. John couldn’t deny that Maya was a smart, intelligent girl, even at such a young age. She definitely took after the high intelligence of both her parents.

After a moment he smiled slightly and nodded towards the dressing gown. “Is that Sherlock’s?” he asked.

She bit her lip and nodded, smiling as she pulled the gown tighter around her. The sleeves dangled so much that she could barely get her arms through half of them, and the whole material seemed to simply pool around her in a pile of silky fabric that looked like it was eating her whole. “I like to wear his clothes sometimes,” she said sheepishly.

Sherlock had been silently watching this whole exchange from the doorway to the kitchen, holding a steaming cup of tea in each hand. He couldn’t help smiling at the way John spoke to Maya; he had always had a way with Maya and all other children that Sherlock couldn’t quite understand. Maybe it was John’s bedside manner automatically unearthing itself, but he had always been good with kids in a way Sherlock had never quite mastered. Sherlock’s heart fluttered at John’s reaction to Maya’s observation of Sherlock’s mood changes. Leave it to Maya to know Sherlock’s emotions better than he did.

He finally stepped back out into the living room and handed a mug of tea to John, pretending he hadn’t heard or seen any of their previous conversation.

“Maya, I didn’t hear you get up. Is that my dressing gown? Why do you keep trying to wear my clothes?”

An hour later, Sherlock left John with his laptop to check some emails while he gave Maya a bath and changed her into clean clothes.

By late afternoon, the three of them were settled on the sofa watching television, Maya nestled between John and Sherlock, clutching Jimmy tightly and mesmerized with the cartoon playing. Sherlock had work he could do but decided John needed him more at the moment. Anything else could wait until the next day; John was his priority.

“Sherlock?” John said quietly after a few minutes of watching the screen.

“Hmm?” Sherlock replied, turning his head to John.

“Could I…if it’s not too much to ask, I don’t want to be a bother…could I spend the night here? I don’t think it’s a good idea to go home yet, I need to calm down a bit before I see Mary and I—”

“John,” Sherlock interrupted. “Of course. You’ll have to take my bed, though, as Maya’s taken over your old room. I’ll sleep on the sofa if I sleep at all tonight. Stay here as long as you need to. You are always welcome at Baker Street.”

John swallowed and nodded. “Thank you,” he said in a slightly strangled voice.

Sherlock simply smiled slightly in response before turning his head back to the television. John kept his eyes on Sherlock a few moments longer than necessary before turning his attention back to the screen as well.

* * *

The next week was Maya’s birthday party. It was only a small get-together that Sherlock had arranged, inviting only a select few to attend, like Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Mycroft and of course John. Mary was obviously not invited. Sherlock had been ignoring her emails and texts, knowing she was just trying to get to John through him to say god knows what. He even told John about it and he had responded with a curt nod and an irritated “Don’t reply. Serves her right.”

After all of his research on acceptable birthday parties for girls Maya’s age, Sherlock had decided that they were better off with a  small party with family and friends than trying to do anything elaborate, knowing Maya honestly wouldn’t care one way or the other if she had a clown or a magician. It wasn’t like she had any friends her age to invite anyway.

Molly had offered to bake a cake shaped like a four, Mrs. Hudson had helped Sherlock pick out blue and purple balloons, streamers, table cloths and plates (Maya’s two favorite colors, of course), and Sherlock had bought a few board games he thought Maya might like to play for the occasion. Sherlock was doing all the cooking and John was in charge of getting some alcohol to entertain the adult guests who were only attending a four year old’s birthday party for Sherlock’s sake.

At this point, all those attending the party were aware that Maya was in fact not Sherlock’s distant cousin’s child but his own; anyone with two eyes could see that Sherlock and Maya were closely related anyway. It was too much effort to try to keep it a secret from those closest to Sherlock, and he trusted them all enough not to blackmail him after knowing such information. Although some of them were slightly horrified by the fact that Sherlock had fathered a child with a lesbian dominatrix, everyone liked Maya so much and saw how much Sherlock cared about her that they chose to overlook it all. Even Mrs. Hudson was impressed by the father Sherlock had become to Maya in the past few months.

John had gone back to his house to collect his things a few days after his fallout with Mary then returned to Baker Street shortly after. He was a little embarrassed to be imposing himself on Maya and Sherlock and insisted constantly that it was only temporary, to which Sherlock rolled his eyes and repeated his statement for John to stay as long as he needed. “We could always use the company,” he told John. “Plus I think Maya has taken a liking to you. You’re always so good with her,” he added to make John feel less guilty about the situation.

Sherlock continued to sleep on the sofa and allowed John to use his bedroom for the time being. It wasn’t like he slept much anyway, and the only other alternative was actually sharing the bed with John, which he knew was out of the question. So he slept on the sofa when he did sleep, telling John constantly that he honestly didn’t mind, despite the slight ache in his back.

The morning of Maya’s birthday set the day off to a rough start when she burst into tears at the breakfast table at the realization that Irene wouldn’t be there for her birthday. She had sent Sherlock a text that morning wishing their daughter a happy birthday, saying that she wished she could call but she was just too busy at the moment, and as much as both John and Sherlock tried to explain to Maya that she couldn’t call her mother or see her that day, Maya had started sobbing uncontrollably. Not even the sight of the entire flat decorated with balloons and streamers in her favorite colors would make her stop crying.

At a loss for what else to do, Sherlock picked up his daughter and sat down on the sofa with her, allowing her to sob into his chest and babble on about missing her mother and wanting to talk to her. John stayed in the kitchen and busied himself with the dishes to give them space.

Sherlock just allowed Maya to cry until she had no more tears left to give and was a sniffling mess against him, burying her face in his shoulder as he gently brushed the hair out of her eyes and sat with her in silence. When she was breathing normally again and appeared to be over her crying fit, Sherlock gently urged her to sit up and look at him while still sitting in his lap.

He wiped away her tears with his thumbs and gave her a small smile. “Can you believe that you’re four years old today?” he said softly.

She sniffled and wiped her eyes in response, refusing to look at him.

Sherlock exhaled deeply and swallowed hard before he spoke again. “Maya…” he began.

She looked up at him with tear-stained cheeks and watery blue eyes.

He cleared his throat before he continued. “Maya, I know…I know that you miss your mother, and I’m sorry that you’ve been stuck with an annoying git like me while she’s been away. And…I know that I have not been the best father to you. I just met you six months ago, and at the beginning, I didn’t know what I was doing. I made a lot of mistakes and did things I shouldn’t have. I almost…I almost didn’t want anything to do with you, to be honest. I didn’t see you as my responsibility and I was practically counting the days until your mother was going to come back. But not anymore. Actually, I still don’t know what I’m doing, really. But I’m trying, I really am.”

He swallowed and tucked a strand of dark curly hair behind her ear, smiling slightly. “I know you may not understand everything I’m trying to tell you right now. But I…I never pictured myself as a father. Having children was never in the realm of possibility for me until you came along. I never expected myself to be reading bedtime stories or going to playgrounds on a regular basis or watching films with you on rainy days. But I also never expected to enjoy taking care of you and spending time with you so much. You are one of the best things to happen to me in a very long time, and I hope you know how important you are to me.”

Sherlock took another shaky breath and exhaled. He smiled slightly at Maya, biting his lower lip and holding back unexpected tears. “I want you to know that I love being your father, and I am proud to call you my daughter, Maya. Anyone who knows me knows that saying things like this is not in my nature; I don’t admit to being capable of emotions so easily and I'm not sure how to say things like this properly. But I believe you’ve changed me, in the best way possible. And even at four years old, I know that you are going to grow up to be an amazing woman someday. I know I can’t be a substitute for your mother, but I hope that you know that I am trying my very best to be a good enough parent for you until she returns. And your mother is coming back, I promise you. And she loves you just as much as I do. She would be here with us right now if she could, but she still has some things to take care of, and I know she is trying her absolute hardest to get back to you as soon as she can. Like in _Lilo and Stitch_ : ohana means family, and—”

“Family means nobody gets left behind,” Maya said, her eyes filling with tears once again.

“Or forgotten,” Sherlock finished quietly, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. “Your mother hasn’t forgotten you, and neither have I.”

Maya nodded and lunged forward, wrapping her tiny arms around Sherlock’s neck and hugging him close. Sherlock closed his eyes and hugged her back gently, stroking the back of her head. “Now how about we get you cleaned up and dressed. Your party guests will be here soon, and we have to make sure the birthday girl looks her very best. John helped me pick out a new dress for you; it’s waiting upstairs.”

At that, Maya pulled away and grinned excitedly. “Really?”

Sherlock smiled back and nodded. “Yep. But first, go brush your teeth, then I’ll meet you upstairs, alright?”

“Okay,” Maya replied, kissing Sherlock’s cheek before pulling away and jumping down from the sofa, running down the hallway towards the bathroom.

John was leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen and watched her run past him, crossing his arms. He was smiling at Sherlock the way he did when it was for Sherlock and for Sherlock only—a bright, genuine kind of smile that Sherlock didn’t get to see often, but when he did, it lit up John’s entire face and made Sherlock’s heart beat a little faster. Sherlock didn’t know if John realized he smiled that way, but he lived for those smiles.

“Who would have thought that Sherlock Holmes would be one of the best bloody parents I’ve ever seen in my whole life?” John said, grinning widely at Sherlock as he approached him.

Sherlock just smiled back and shook his head in response.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Christmas and New Year's holidays pass uneventfully for the 221B household, but when a new and exciting case arises, Sherlock gets distracted. And it may be the biggest mistake of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody, thanks for reading so far, I appreciate all the love and support I'm getting for this fic! I apologize in advance for this chapter probably being far too short for your liking, and a bit of a teaser at that. I'm going out of town for a week or so starting tomorrow, so I wanted to give you all one more chapter before I left, as it's going to be about two weeks until I can post another one. 
> 
> But I promise that the next chapter is going to be a very exciting one, so I hope it's worth the wait. Thanks again for reading and keep sending any feedback or comments! <3 <3

Maya’s birthday party ended up being a great success, and Sherlock actually enjoyed himself. Normally he wasn’t one for socializing or spending time with people in any shape or form, but seeing how happy Maya was at her party, practically glowing and unable to stop smiling at everyone, he relaxed and enjoyed the company around him instead of wishing they would all leave the flat as soon as possible.

The food was delicious, everyone enjoyed playing the games, and for the first time in a long time Sherlock realized he didn’t have the worst people in the world for company. Even Mycroft was being civil and spent a good deal of the party chatting animatedly to Lestrade about government secrets or something of the sort.

Molly did well serving as a sort of temporary mother for Maya and took special care to talk to her frequently throughout the party, especially after Sherlock had told her about the meltdown she had had earlier that day.

Sherlock stuck close to Maya the entire time as well and was on her team in every board game they played, ensuring she won almost every time. John found himself watching Sherlock throughout the day and couldn’t recall a time that he had seen the detective happier, except maybe after he had solved a particularly tough case. Sherlock was truly a changed man because of his daughter, and John wished he had gotten a chance to see this side of his best friend years ago.

The week after Maya’s birthday was Christmas, which consisted of a quiet day in 221B for Sherlock, John, Mrs. Hudson, and Maya. Molly and Greg stopped by on their way to their respective family’s houses, and even Mycroft made a brief appearance.

Molly gave Maya a stuffed pony, Mycroft gave his niece a collection of fairy tale picture books, Mrs. Hudson some of her favorite candies, and John gave her a child-sized stethoscope, as she always seemed fascinated with that whenever he pulled it out from his bag from the clinic. Sherlock gave her a new set of coloring books and markers as well as a LEGO set of a castle (which John highly suspected Sherlock only bought because he wanted an excuse to build it himself).

The New Year’s holidays occurred uneventfully, and Maya passed out on the sofa long before midnight, leaving John and Sherlock to pop a bottle of champagne together when the clock struck twelve while Maya slept soundly in her bed upstairs. Sherlock then played a song on his violin for John before he went off to bed, as had become their New Year’s tradition over the years.

* * *

A few weeks later, Sherlock was deep in a new case for Scotland Yard, his most exciting one in months. A triple murder with absolutely no leads and seemingly no obvious clues or suspects was like a late Christmas present for Sherlock, and he was practically jumping for joy at the opportunity for a fresh, exciting case. So naturally he dove head-first into his work and was busier than ever.

A few days into his ruthless investigation, he insisted on spending an entire day at St. Bart’s pouring over all of the evidence and documents he could find. This meant he needed to be alone and able to go to his mind palace where he could hopefully work out a path to start on to lead him in the right direction, so he left Maya with John, who luckily was only working half a shift at the surgery that day.

Sherlock spent hours at St. Bart’s, starting early that morning, and didn’t return to Baker Street until that evening. Elated that he had found a possible clue that had been glaringly obvious to only him and ready to tell John all about it when he got home, Sherlock was surprised to find the flat empty and dark when he arrived. The silence unnerved him; it was now after eight o’clock and there was no reason that John and Maya wouldn’t be home.

John’s shift had ended at two o’clock that day, and he had most likely taken Maya out for a late lunch then to the park or playground after for a few hours before returning to the flat around dinnertime. At least, that’s what he would have normally done. When Sherlock went downstairs to ask Mrs. Hudson if she had seen John and Maya recently, she replied that she hadn’t seen them since that morning when John left for his shift, Maya in tow.

Puzzled but not panicking quite yet, Sherlock went back upstairs and began to fix himself a cup of tea. It was possible that John had decided to treat Maya to a full day out, especially since he didn’t often have the opportunity to spend time alone with her. He could have taken her to the cinema after going to a park, or shopping somewhere. If either of those things were the case, they were bound to be home soon.

But when it was nearing ten o’clock, Sherlock had a horrible feeling in his stomach. Maya’s bedtime was ten, and John had no reason to be out this late with her, even if they had done something fun together after John got off work. They should have been back hours ago.

He quickly texted John, asking him where he was. When he didn’t get a response twenty minutes later, he texted both Molly and Lestrade to ask if John had stopped by St. Bart’s or Scotland Yard looking for him, and both replied that they hadn’t seen him all day. Half an hour later, he nervously texted John again and still received no response.

With some reluctance, he texted Mycroft, who for once had no idea where John could possibly be but promised Sherlock he would immediately look into it, recognizing his brother’s distress. Sherlock then called John’s mobile, once, twice, three times. Each time it went directly to his voicemail, which meant his phone was off. John never turned his phone off.

He then called Mary, who answered her phone on the second ring with a confused “Sherlock?” and he didn’t waste any time in asking “Have you seen John at all today?”

After a moment she replied, “No, why would I? Well, I mean besides at the clinic, I saw him there this morning but he had a half-shift today and left sometime after I went to lunch. Had to have been around two or so, I’d say.”

There was a pause and then she asked, “Sherlock, is something wrong?” to which he replied “I don’t know, but I’ll keep you posted,” in a flat voice before hanging up. He could tell by the tone of her voice that she honestly didn’t know where he was; he could tell if Mary was lying to him, unlike John.

Sherlock then ran around the flat, double checking each room to make sure John or Maya hadn’t miraculously appeared somehow when he wasn’t looking. He then paced around the living room in the empty flat, clutching his phone in one hand, his mind and heart both racing. He felt like he couldn’t breathe; something had happened to them, and he didn’t know what. It could be anything or anyone who had done something with them, and the realization that he couldn’t automatically deduce it seriously worried Sherlock.

If he wasn’t panicking before, he was definitely panicking now.

He then sent texts to Molly and Lestrade telling them that he had no idea where John and Maya were and to keep an eye out for them; Greg told him that he would send out a few men from his office to look for them, just in case it was more serious than they thought. Mycroft called Sherlock to tell him that CCTV hadn’t spotted them anywhere in the last few hours and demanded that Sherlock tell him everything he knew then promised to keep working on the situation. He instructed Sherlock to “stay at Baker Street and don’t do anything stupid.”

Wired from both the case he was no longer interested in at the moment and the fact that his daughter and best friend were suddenly missing, Sherlock didn’t sleep that night. He passed the hours by drinking countless cups of tea and nervously plucking at his violin while he tried to think, standing by the window and constantly glancing between the door to the flat and the dark street outside, hoping to see John walking up with Maya any second. Wherever they were, he hoped that they weren’t in immediate danger, although everything about the situation screamed that they were. He helplessly sat in the flat doing everything he could to find them, from sending out members of his homeless network to using his online sources. Nothing he did came up with any leads.

Both Lestrade and Mycroft still came up with nothing a few hours later and told Sherlock to get some sleep before they returned to it in the morning; not much could be done at three in the morning anyway, but that didn’t stop Sherlock from refusing to sleep.

Around 6am, Sherlock’s phone beeped and he scrambled from the sofa to the desk where it was sitting to retrieve it with eager fingers. It was a text from an unknown number that was blocked so it couldn’t be traced. Sherlock opened the message and almost shouted out and dropped his phone onto the floor when he saw that it was a picture message, showing a dark but still discernable photo of Maya and John tied to chairs and gagged. John looked slightly bruised and beaten, with a trail of blood running down the side of his face and a mildly blackened eye; his eyes were closed and his head drooped down to one side. Maya appeared to be unharmed except for a small gash on the side of her cheek, but she still looked terrified, even if it was a dark photo.

The caption below the picture read: _Come and play, Mr. Holmes. We’re waiting. 78 Lancaster Terrace. Come alone and unarmed. Don’t delay. –SM._

As soon as he read the caption, Sherlock was flying across the room, into his coat and scarf in seconds, pulling on his gloves as he rushed down the stairs. He immediately hailed a cab and breathlessly repeated the address to the driver, telling him that he’d pay him double if he went as fast as he could drive.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian Moran wants to play a game, and Sherlock is hardly willing to participate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised you a chapter after a longer wait than usual, and here it is! It's a long one too, just because I love you all so much. This is one of my favorite chapters in the whole fic and it was just so much fun to write. Yes, it's basically one of the most stereotypical scenes you could see in any action movie, but hey, it's my fic and I can do what I want, right? Plus writing a baddie like Sebastian Moran is so much fun. 
> 
> Fun sidenote: my headcanon for Sebastian Moran is a blond Michael Fassbender. That doesn't mean you have to picture him for this chapter or anything, but if you're having trouble picturing him, I think it's a fun headcanon. 
> 
> Once again, thank you so so much to everyone who has stuck around this long and I promise you there is some more great stuff coming up in these final chapters to take care of everything. I hope you enjoy!! And as always, all comments/feedback are appreciated! Read on my lovelies! <3

Once at his destination, Sherlock threw a fifty pound note at the driver and jumped out of the cab, bursting open the door to 78 Lancaster Terrace, which was cracked open slightly, awaiting his arrival. After running through a spacious entryway, he found another door off to the right that was also open just a bit, the light from the room spilling out into the hallway.

He slowly pushed it open and was greeted with a light so bright that he shielded his eyes with his arm and didn’t have time to react to strong hands on either side of him forcing him down onto his knees and shoving his wrists into handcuffs behind his back. He felt the hands then search the pockets of his jacket and trousers, patting down all sides of him to make sure he was clean. They left his phone and wallet, apparently respecting the fact that he was truly unarmed.

The hands released him and he heard the two men step back a few feet, leaving him kneeling on the floor. Sherlock squinted into the light and blinked several times after it was finally moved away from his face. He furrowed his eyebrows and blinked the black spots away from his vision so he could take in his surroundings.

A tall, well-built man in black cargo pants, a white t-shirt and black combat boots stood in front of him, grinning. Sherlock’s eyes finally adjusted to the change in light and on the man, who he immediately deduced to be ex-military by his stance and deep tan on his arms and neck despite it being January and freezing in London. When he moved closer, Sherlock’s eye also caught a glint of military dog tags the man was wearing over his shirt, which clinked together quietly against his chest with each of his movements. The man was both tall and muscular and had short blond hair that was slicked back, pale blue eyes, and a deep pink-colored scar that ran from one side of his forehead diagonally down to the opposite side of his face, tucking slightly under his chin and onto the side of his neck.

“Hello, Mr. Holmes. So nice to finally meet you,” the man said, still grinning widely at him. His voice was deep and had a slight Northern English accent to it.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but who the hell are you and what do you want? Also, these handcuffs aren’t quite fair considering I came here as you instructed, unarmed and alone,” Sherlock said flatly, clearly unamused by the whole situation.

The man laughed and shrugged. “The handcuffs are just a precaution. And yes you did, and you arrived promptly at that. Bravo. As for who I am, well…I’m a bit surprised you didn’t know by one glance, but maybe you’re not as good as they say you are. The name’s Moran. Sebastian Moran.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened slightly and he swallowed. He knew that name. Sebastian Moran: Jim Moriarty’s right-hand man and skilled assassin, in addition to being an ex-military officer who had gone rogue in Afghanistan and was wanted by the British government for acts of treason. Sherlock was certain that Moran had been one of the snipers pointed at him and John at the swimming pool the night they had first met Moriarty, and then again present as one of the gunmen Moriarty had threatened to kill the people Sherlock loved up on the roof of St. Bart’s.

After his fake death when Sherlock had set out to destroy Moriarty’s entire network, he had failed to locate Moran after several attempts and believed him to be either in hiding or halfway across the globe after being faced with his sudden unemployment. He believed that Moriarty’s death had undoubtedly left Sebastian with nothing, as Jim was most likely providing him protection from the British government as well as paying handsomely for his services; it was only logical that he had decided to run after Jim’s death and go into hiding once more until he found someone to serve as a replacement for his former employer. Sherlock never actually thought he would ever hear the name Sebastian Moran again, let alone find himself face to face with the assassin.

Sebastian noticed his reaction and smirked. “Ah, there’s the light bulb. I knew you would get it eventually. You and my late boss used to be rather chummy, I hear. Well, until he blew his brains out because of you. Jim never knew when enough was enough…I always told him that, but he never listened.”

Sherlock swallowed again, attempting to steady his breathing. “What do you want?”

Sebastian smiled at Sherlock innocently and didn’t say anything for a while. He took a knife out from his back pocket and began picking underneath his fingernails with it.

“Oh Mr. Holmes, it’s not about what I want. It’s about what _you_ want.” He smiled sweetly then snapped his fingers. Two large men materialized from the shadows behind Sherlock and raised him to his feet, dragging him closer to Moran so they were standing face to face.

“Lights!” Sebastian yelled, and the other half of the room was flooded with light.

When Sherlock’s eyes adjusted again, his heart skipped a beat when he saw Maya and John sitting still tied and gagged to metal chairs on the other side of the room. The guards dragged Sherlock over to them as Sebastian walked in front.

The two men forced Sherlock onto his knees again roughly, and he winced as he landed on the unforgiving hardwood floor. Maya made a struggling noise beneath the cloth in her mouth and Sherlock turned his eyes to her, silently trying to tell her that it was alright when it clearly wasn’t. She sniffled and let out a sob beneath her gag, and Sherlock had to look away. He finally looked up at John, who was looking at him with the same soldier calmness he always exhibited in the situations like this they had found themselves in before; he was absolutely terrified on the inside, but the look he gave Sherlock told him that he trusted him to get them out of this alive. It was awful that this wasn't the first time John had been kidnapped because of Sherlock.

Sebastian walked behind the chairs and stood between John and Maya, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “You see, Mr. Holmes, you took something from me. Something very, very dear to me. Jim Moriarty was not only my primary source of income, but he was also my best friend. Possibly something more than that, but the details are not of your concern. Now he’s dead because of you. It’s only fair that I get to take something just as meaningful from you in return.”

Sherlock’s pace quickened and he began shaking his head. “No. No. Please, I’ll do anything, just don’t—”

Sebastian stopped him by holding up a hand. “Don’t interrupt, it’s rude.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “You’re not in a position to negotiate an alternative to what I’m about to offer. I’ve been watching you the past few months; I’m surprised you didn’t notice. Again, I guess you’re not as good as they say. Getting a bit slow these days, perhaps? Well, I guess you were a little preoccupied with this little bundle of joy suddenly falling into your life,” he said, gesturing to Maya. “She’s taken up quite a bit of your time and attention, and with Doctor Watson back at Baker Street on top of that, I don’t know how you find the time to do anything else, honestly. It was lucky for me you were so distracted by a case for once so I could take these two away when you weren’t looking…pity you didn’t pick up on it sooner, yeah?”

Sebastian cleared his throat again, leaning down so that his head was between John and Maya, a hand pressing down onto both of their shoulders firmly. “It’s this research on you this past year that’s come up with this ingenious idea in the first place, so I do hope you appreciate it. The merciful man within me is going to allow you a choice: your daughter…” he ran the side of the knife down Maya’s cheek and she whimpered, silent tears falling down her cheeks, “…or your best friend.” He did the same to John, who jerked away from his touch but stayed defiantly strong, glaring at Moran with the coldest look he could manage.

“But…the sadist in me—which, let’s face it, that’s the winning player here—is going to make you do it. That’s the most proper revenge, don’t you think? One of the people who mean the most to you in this world, dead by your own hand? Think of it as delayed retribution. If I had my way, you would have never survived that fall, and Jim would still be alive. But this will have to do for now. We can’t always get what we want, Mr. Holmes. I’m sure you know that by now. I know this all sounds a bit clichéd and overdone, but what can I say? I’m a traditionalist.” He shrugged nonchalantly, as if he was offering Sherlock a choice of wines for dinner rather than which one of the two most important people in his life he was going to murder in cold blood.

Sherlock was finding it harder and harder to breathe; he couldn’t even look at John or Maya, whom he knew were both giving him desperate, helpless looks as he stared intently down at the floor, attempting to steady his breathing. His vision was beginning to blur with tears and his entire body felt like it was trembling. He swallowed the growing lump in his throat and hoped his voice wasn’t shaking when he spoke again.

“Please…” Sherlock said softly. “There has to be something else you want. My brother occupies a powerful position in the British government and I can arrange to have several resources in Britain at my disposal to get you anything you want. Money, political secrets, government pardon for your treason, protection…anything. Anything but this. Please.”

Sebastian walked back around to the front of the chairs and stood tapping his knife against his chin lightly as he looked between Sherlock on the floor and John and Maya in the chairs. He bit his lip and squinted between them, as if he was deep in thought, and didn’t say anything for at least a full minute before he finally spoke.

“No, I think I’m happy with this plan. I can’t think of anything else I’d rather want than watching you suffer, just as I’ve suffered.” He paused and gestured to his disfigured face. “This face has seen enough suffering for one lifetime, Mr. Holmes. It’s only just that you feel just a fraction of that pain. To be honest, I never thought you’d be one to beg, but that’s just making this so much sweeter. Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, is begging for _my_ mercy? It’s Christmas!” He grinned at Sherlock and clapped his hands, clearly enjoying watching him squirm.

Moran then snapped his fingers again and the guards reappeared on either side of Sherlock. They lifted him to his feet and undid his handcuffs but kept firm hands on both of his upper arms in case he tried to escape. With another snap of his fingers, another guard appeared from the far side of the room and handed him a handgun and a box of bullets.

After staring at Sherlock for a moment, he said, “Take off his coat. I don’t want him trying anything funny. Take off the jacket too, if he has one underneath.”

As the guards aggressively shuffled Sherlock out of his Belstaff and dress jacket and threw them to the side, leaving him in his gray button-up shirt, Sebastian loaded the gun.

“Now…” he began, taking a step towards Sherlock and twirling the gun around his finger, apparently not caring that it was now loaded, “Who’s it gonna be? Kill one of them and I let you and the survivor go. It’s that simple. And trust me, I am a man of my word, Mr. Holmes.”

He walked behind the chairs again. “So. Will it be the innocent little girl?” He tapped Maya’s head with the gun and she let out a muffled shout and shut her eyes tightly. “Or the brave army doctor?” He then casually jabbed John in the cheek with the head of the gun, smiling as John flinched and swore beneath his gag.

Sherlock helplessly looked between them, his eyes filled with tears. There was no way he could do this. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself either way. Moran clearly knew this and only relished in the moment even more because of it.

“I can’t…” he whispered, dropping his head and closing his eyes.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Sebastian said mockingly, acting like he was straining to hear Sherlock.

“I said I can’t!” Sherlock shouted at him, his voice ringing out in the empty room.

Sebastian let out a hollow laugh and shook his head. “Oh!” He smiled at Sherlock. “How rude of me! I forgot, I should give them both a chance to fight for their lives. I’m sure it will make your decision much easier if you can hear their last words.” He then stepped in front of Maya and ripped the gag out of her mouth, letting it fall onto her chest.

“Daddy!” she shouted immediately, her eyes filling with tears. “Help me, Daddy. I’m so scared…” she said before bursting into tears.

“I know, love, I know,” Sherlock choked out, holding back tears of his own. “I’m trying. You’re going to be okay, I promise.”

Sebastian then moved to John and removed his gag.

“Sherlock, don’t even pretend like there’s an actual choice here. Choose me. Save Maya. You have to. I’m giving you permission to. _Please_.”

Sherlock stared at John, his mouth parted slightly as he choked back more tears. He shook his head silently, biting his lip.

“Yes, Sherlock. You have to,” John choked, his eyes beginning to water as well. “For Maya. She needs you,” he whispered.

“But I need you too,” Sherlock said back quietly, desperately searching John’s eyes for a solution.

John made a quiet muffled noise that sounded like him choking back a sob and he shook his head at Sherlock, exhaling out his nose. “She needs you more.”

Sherlock turned his head back to Maya, who was still crying and looking at him with wide, terrified eyes. He looked back at John, who set his jaw firmly and gave Sherlock a curt nod. He shifted his eyes to Maya then back to Sherlock and held his gaze.

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock nodded and looked back at Maya. “I’m getting you out of here, Maya. John,” he said shakily, looking Sebastian in the eye. “I choose John.”

Sebastian’s lip curled into an evil, satisfied smile, one that distorted his face even more and made him look even more terrifying than he already was with his menacing nature. He nodded and moved closer to Sherlock so that he was standing directly in front of him. Sherlock had a chance to get a detailed look at his scar, Sebastian was standing so close. He heard the dog tags clink as Moran leaned forward and stood nose to nose with him.

“A selfless choice, I see. And who says Sherlock Holmes can’t be sentimental? You’ve got to be the most sentimental man I’ve ever met.”

He shoved the gun into Sherlock’s hand but kept one of his own over it as he stared Sherlock in the eyes, smirking, inches from his face. “Here you go. And don’t bother trying anything. I have four gunmen on you in this room, and that’s not even counting myself.”

Sebastian stepped away, releasing the gun into Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock felt the two guards release his upper arms and heard the click of their guns loading behind him, no doubt raised just a few feet from his head. The other two gunmen stood on either side of the room, moving slightly closer to him to be in shooting range but still keeping a good distance. Moran stood off to the side of Maya’s chair, crossing his arms and watching Sherlock intently.

“Today, Mr. Holmes,” Sebastian said impatiently when Sherlock failed to move immediately.

Sherlock glanced over at Moran for a moment then took two steps closer to John. Hand shaking and struggling to breathe, he bit his trembling lip and raised the gun a little, staring at John.

John looked back at Sherlock with as much confidence and bravery as he could muster in that moment, looking directly at him, unblinking with his head held high. As always, he was trying to be strong enough for the two of them and trying to make Sherlock feel braver than he was.

After he stared at John for a moment, he said softly in a shaking voice, “Keep your eyes fixed on me.” He saw John’s stoniness falter for a moment at those words and he bit his lip, nodding once to Sherlock.

Sherlock lowered his eyes to the ground between John’s feet then met John’s eyes again, then repeated the movement. John’s eyes moved down for a moment with Sherlock’s the third time then flicked back up quickly, and he nodded once more at him, telling him that he understood.

A second later, Sherlock exhaled and placed his hand on the trigger, extending his arm and holding the gun with both hands, pointing it at John’s chest.

Another second later, he shouted “ _Vatican cameos_!” as loud as he could, shot the floor between John’s feet and kicked his chair backwards all in one impossibly quick motion. John let out a convincing shout as he fell backward and Sherlock didn’t waste time in first shooting two of the guards closest to him then diving in front of Maya and acting as a shield for her as he pushed her chair away and flipped it backwards as well.

As he turned around, Sherlock felt a sharp pain rip through his left arm from the guard who was now running at him full speed from the other side of the room. He quickly shot the man in the gut and dodged another bullet from the last guard and in another swift movement managed to shoot her in the upper chest area. The two guards that were closest to him were incapacitated, if not dead from the shots Sherlock had hoped landed in their abdominal areas.

Breathlessly he turned to Moran, who before Sherlock could even place his hand on the trigger shot at him twice, one bullet lodging itself into his already injured left arm, and the other managing to scrape his left side, missing his rib cage by centimeters and only swiping his side slightly by the way he managed to shift to the right out of its path at the last second. Sherlock shouted out in the pain and shot at Moran blindly, falling back onto the floor and struggling to sit up through the excruciating pain on the left side of his body.

A second later, Sebastian was standing over him, breathing heavily and practically foaming at the mouth in a rage, his gun aimed at Sherlock’s heart. He slammed a foot down on Sherlock’s arm with the two bullets in it, making him cry out and drop his gun in response. Moran then kicked the gun out of Sherlock’s reach and aimed it at chest once more.  

“What did I tell you about not trying anything? Just for that I’m going to kill all of you. Congratulations on the slaughter of everyone you love, Mr. Holmes.”

Sebastian aimed steadily, placing his hand on the trigger. Sherlock closed his eyes, accepting defeat as he struggled to breathe and writhed in pain on the hardwood floor. But before Moran could pull the trigger, he heard a shrill yell from somewhere behind Sebastian and Sherlock’s eyes snapped open to see Maya on her knees behind Sebastian, sinking her teeth into the back of his thigh. Sebastian swore loudly and was caught so off guard that he stumbled and then shot a spot to the side of Sherlock’s head that grazed the top of his ear. Sherlock took advantage of Moran’s distraction and quickly scrambled for his gun a few feet away, first shooting him in the chest, then in the side of the neck, watching the assassin immediately fall to the ground with a loud thud, clearly dead or close to it by how much blood he was about to lose.

Sherlock breathed heavily and sat up with a great effort, clutching his left arm with his right and staring at Maya in absolute shock. She immediately crawled over to him and collapsed into his lap, throwing her arms around his neck and sobbing into his shoulder. Sherlock stroked her head with his good arm and held her to him as tightly as he could, starting to cry tears of joy.

“Are you hurt?” he asked immediately, pulling away slightly to scan her for injuries, tilting her face back and forth in the light. His hands were shaking and he could hear his heartbeat in his ears. “Maya. Answer me. Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m okay,” she replied, sniffling and shaking her head slightly. She reached her arms out to him and he pulled her close again once he was satisfied she was truly unharmed.

“Oh my god,” he panted, closing his eyes and burying his head in Maya’s hair. “Thank god you’re safe. I don’t know what I would have done if you…” his sentence was interrupted with a sob as he pulled her even closer to him.

After a moment he pushed her away slightly and looked at her while holding her shoulders, bewildered. “You bit him,” he said slowly, as if still processing it. “You bit Sebastian Moran. In the leg.”

Maya nodded with wide eyes. “He was going to shoot you.”

Sherlock let out something between a laugh and a sob and hugged Maya again.

After a minute of silence she pulled away and looked at him, still crying. “I was so scared. I didn’t know where you were and they hurt John and it was dark for so long…don’t ever leave me again, Daddy.”

Sherlock nodded, speaking thickly through his tears, “Never. What do we say?”

“Ohana means family, and family means nobody gets left behind,” Maya choked out.

Sherlock nodded and kissed her cheek. “Exactly. I will _never_ leave you behind. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” she whispered, kissing his forehead gently.

Hearing a groan to his right, Sherlock saw John’s feet still dangling over his chair, as he was obviously still tied to it and hadn’t managed to free himself from the binds as easily as Maya did. He had been lying on his back throughout the entire ordeal, hearing gunshots and shouting the entire time and probably fearing for his life even more now that he was not only helplessly tied to a chair but now also out in the open, vulnerably lying on the ground.

Sherlock gently shuffled Maya off of his lap then crawled over to Moran’s still body, grabbing the knife from his pocket and then dragging himself over to John, quickly slashing through the tightly bound ropes and helping him sit up.

John looked at Sherlock for a moment then threw his arms around the detective, burying his face in Sherlock’s shoulder and letting out a somewhat hysterical laugh/sob of relief. Sherlock smiled and wrapped his good arm around John’s back, digging his nails into the side of his shirt and holding him like he never wanted to let go.

“ _Jesus fucking Christ_ , Sherlock,” he said hoarsely. He pulled away slightly and touched his forehead to Sherlock’s gently, one hand still gripping the back of Sherlock’s neck and Sherlock still holding on to John’s shirt tightly.

He took a deep breath and exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment then pulling away from Sherlock fully to give him a bewildered yet amazed look. “We should not be alive right now.”

Sherlock released John’s shirt and dropped his arm to the side like he hadn’t just been holding on to John like his life depended on it just a moment before. He smiled slightly as he tried to force himself to breathe normally again. “I know. Me especially.”

John finally dropped his hands from Sherlock and rested them on his knees, shaking his head in disbelief at the bodies around them.  “Bloody hell.”

Maya then walked over to them and hugged John, who hugged her back tightly and said, “I am so sorry, love. But I told you that your dad would show up and save the day, didn’t I?”

Maya nodded and smiled, turning to Sherlock and hugging him again. He smiled and hugged back, closing his eyes and wincing as she accidentally leaned on his left arm. A moment of silence passed and Sherlock looked over at John, surprised to see him looking at him so intensely.

“What?” he asked defensively.

John cracked a small smile at Sherlock and replied, “You just took out five men in about two minutes with one gun, and probably succeeded in killing almost all of them.”

Sherlock smirked. “Well just because you’re a former soldier doesn’t mean you’re the only one who knows how to shoot. I’ve been letting you show off the past few years. You may be a better shot than me, but I can obviously fend for myself if need be.”

John laughed and shook his head. “And that’s about as modest as you get. Wanker.”

Sherlock laughed and shrugged. “I may have picked up a few techniques from you. I only learn from the best, of course.”

John made a face at Sherlock before struggling to his feet and then offering a hand to help him up. Once they were both on their feet, John quickly examined Sherlock’s wounded arm and side.

“I think both the bullets are still in your arm. It looks like the other shot just barely grazed your side. There’s blood, but it looks like it’s just a surface wound. Another inch to the left and it may have been in your heart, so you got damn lucky. You’ve lost quite a bit of blood too, we need to get that taken care of straight away,” John said, looking a bit alarmed.

Sherlock nodded. “I meant to tell you about two minutes ago that I was beginning to feel a bit lightheaded. Better get me back to Baker Street.”

“You have two bullets in your arm and you want to go home?”

“Yes. I don’t want to go to the hospital. What good is having a doctor for a flatmate if I can’t use you for this sort of thing?”

John sighed and shook his head, walking over to where Sherlock’s jacket and coat were on the floor. He helped Sherlock into the Belstaff and handed the jacket to him then placed an arm around his waist for support. Taking Maya’s hand on his other side, John shuffled them all towards the exit.

“Let’s get you out of here before you pass out on the spot, then.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As John tends to Sherlock's wounds, he has an epiphany and realizes he needs to say something he should have said years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with this fic for this long if you have and I apologize for such a long gap between updates! This chapter is a long one though, and it's full of some good stuff so hopefully it's worth the wait? I can't believe this fic is almost over (there is one more normal chapter after this one then an epilogue for the last chapter) but I hope you have all been enjoying it as much as I have. This chapter is one of my absolute favorites, and you will very quickly see why. Enjoy!
> 
> (also just a quick note: how John treats Sherlock's bullet wounds is probably horridly inaccurate for a doctor to do, but google was not helpful with how to care for bullet wounds and I just wrote it how I thought John Watson ex-army doctor would do it...so if you're a medical expert or a doctor or something and you're horrified with how wrong it is, I am so sorry in advance but at least I tried?)
> 
> Happy reading my darlings!

Back at Baker Street, John immediately shifted into army doctor mode, treating Sherlock just as he would any other patient. He led him into the kitchen, shrugged off his coat and sat him down in one of the chairs at the table with a glass of water while he ran down the hall to retrieve his medical bag and some towels.

John had treated Sherlock for countless wounds over the years, as the six foot consulting detective always seemed to constantly injure himself on cases from the way he flung his body around so carelessly. And every time he hurt himself, John simply sighed and fixed him up, because of course Sherlock hated hospitals and would only go if he was on the brink of death. He had given him stitches on more than one occasion. So although two bullet wounds in the arm were more serious than many of the injuries John had treated Sherlock for in the past, it was nothing he couldn’t handle, especially as an ex-army doctor. He knew how to get bullets out of arms, legs and anything in-between.

John forced Sherlock to drink another full glass of water while he set up his supplies on the kitchen table. He wasn’t sure how much blood he had lost but it was important to keep him full of fluids as much as possible to make sure he didn’t pass out on John halfway through. Maya stood in the doorway watching silently but keeping her distance, recognizing when John needed space to work.

“Take off your shirt,” John ordered as he filled a bowl with water and another with alcohol then tossed some gauze into each of them.

Sherlock hesitated for a moment but began unbuttoning his dress shirt, blushing slightly as he did so, despite the fact that John had seen him shirtless several times before. John helped him shrug it off his shoulders and down his arms gently, minimizing the pain as much as possible as he helped him tug his arms out of the sleeves. He knew that now that the adrenaline rush had subsided, those bullets were suddenly becoming much more painful to Sherlock, even if he was trying to hide his immense discomfort.

John quickly pressed one of the towels to Sherlock’s arm, applying a good amount of pressure to slow the bleeding a little more. He had wrapped a makeshift tourniquet around Sherlock’s arm using his belt just before they had left to hail a cab, and most of the bleeding had stopped at this point, but he wanted to make sure it was completely stopped before he attempted to extract the bullet pieces from his arm. He kept a firm hand pressing against the wound with one hand as he rearranged his supplies on the table with the other hand so they would all be within easy reach when he needed them.

John could tell by the way Sherlock kept biting his lower lip and scrunching his face up to control his breathing that he was in more pain than he was willing to admit, no doubt trying to find some other point of focus and trying to make it look like it hardly bothered him that he had most likely lost nearly a pint of blood from just his arm wound and that he could barely shift it the wrong way without a jolt of intense pain shooting up the entire left side of his body. John then turned Sherlock’s chair slightly so that the wounded arm was facing him.

“I’m sorry, this is going to sting a bit,” he said as he removed the towel, satisfied the bleeding had stopped almost completely, and then poured alcohol over the two puncture wounds. He then rinsed the wounds thoroughly by pouring some antiseptic on gauze pads and cleaning the area as gently but thoroughly as possible with that and the alcohol and water gauze he had soaked earlier as well. Sherlock scrunched his face at the pain, biting down hard on his lower lip.

“Now I’m going to have to dig the bullets out, and it’s going to hurt like hell. Especially because there’s multiple pieces in the wounds. It doesn’t look like they’ve hit any major arteries, but I’m still going to have to be careful, so it’s going to take a few minutes. Here, bite down on this.” John handed Sherlock an apple and Sherlock made a face at him.

“It’s all I have. Deal with it. Mr. I-don’t-want-to-go-to-the-hospital. I don’t have a sedative or anesthetic of any kind for you, I’m sorry. You can also squeeze my knee with your left hand if that helps.”

“It’s alright. I can handle it.” He shoved the apple into his mouth and nodded at John. Maya had moved from the doorway to the right side of Sherlock’s chair, where she took his good arm and held his right hand in both of hers, smiling up at him.

“I’ve got you, Daddy,” she said quietly, and Sherlock squeezed her fingers weakly in response.

John then began extracting the bits of the bullets in Sherlock’s arm, making sure to keep an eye on the blood flow as he did so, making sure he didn’t hit any important blood vessels or arteries in his arm. Sherlock bit down hard on the apple and stomped his foot a few times at first and groaned with the apple still in his mouth, doing everything he could to resist the urge to yank his arm away from John. Fortunately John never faltered once, even with Sherlock’s iron grip on his knee as he took the bits of bullet out with tweezers and tossed them into a small tin bowl, and within about ten minutes he was satisfied all of the pieces were out of Sherlock.

Sherlock spit the apple out and took a deep breath when John finally said, “All finished. Now I’ll just clean you up and bandage your arm and we’re done. Thankfully I don’t think you’ll need stitches this time. Thankfully the bullets missed all the important parts of your arm and didn’t hit any bone.” Sherlock quickly released John’s knee, not realizing that he was still casually holding it, and blushed slightly, hoping John hadn’t noticed.

Sherlock turned his head to Maya and smiled down at her, raising his hand to the side of her face and stroking her cheek lightly. “Thank you. I needed that.”

When John rinsed the wound with alcohol again and cleaned the surrounding area thoroughly with gauze, Sherlock bit his lip again, but the worst of the pain was thankfully over and a few minutes later John was securing the bandages on his upper arm tightly. He then wiped the top of his ear where a bullet had grazed him, making sure it wasn’t bleeding too badly, then cleaned the wound on his left side, which was also just a simple surface wound that just needed a thorough cleaning and a bandage, perfectly capable of healing up on its own. Sherlock had gotten more than lucky this time.

“I think you’ll live,” John declared when he had treated all of his injuries, patting Sherlock’s bare shoulder and smirking at him. He reached out and ruffled Sherlock’s tangle of curls lightly as he stood, surprising Sherlock at the affectionate gesture. “Oh, and here’s some aspirin for the pain. I’ll get you something stronger tomorrow.” He handed Sherlock another glass of water and a bottle of pills.

As John cleaned up his supplies, Sherlock tended to the cut on Maya’s face and inspected her for any other injuries once again, which she was thankfully free of except for a bruise or two. At that point, Maya was still highly unsettled by the morning’s events but looked so exhausted that she clearly needed to sleep before she passed out right there in the kitchen. Sherlock told her she could sleep on the sofa to be closer to John and himself, who would be in the kitchen and living room for the rest of the day, and promised to keep her safe from any kidnappers.

So Sherlock changed Maya into clean clothes then John helped him set up a makeshift bed on the sofa with the blankets and pillows she had from upstairs. She was asleep within minutes of her head hitting the pillow, gripping Jimmy tightly to her chest.

When Sherlock had changed himself into clean clothes, he returned to the kitchen to find John putting the last bits of his medical bag away.

“Uh, Doctor Watson? Aren’t you forgetting something?” Sherlock asked, giving John a puzzled look as he fastened the last few buttons on his dress shirt.

John looked up at him and furrowed his eyebrows, mostly because Sherlock had just referred to him as “Doctor Watson,” which he never did. “What?”

“What about your injuries? Shouldn’t you get those cleaned up?” he said, gesturing to John’s mildly beaten face and miscellaneous cuts and bruises on his neck.

“Oh, I was just going to wash it off when I had a shower. It’s nothing serious; I can take care of it myself. Should heal up nicely in a few days.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Unacceptable. Please, allow me. You’ve done enough for today.”

John sighed and shook his head but sat down in a kitchen chair anyway, looking up at Sherlock with a small smile. “If you insist, _Doctor Holmes_ ,” he teased, and Sherlock grinned at him as he took out some alcohol wipes from John’s bag.

He then sat down across from John and gingerly began wiping off the dried blood from John’s forehead. It was true that he was mostly fine and would just have a black eye for a few days as the worst of his injuries in addition to a few cuts and bruises, but Sherlock was getting greedy about touching John and didn’t want to pass up any opportunity to do so.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Sherlock asked quietly when John closed his eyes as Sherlock began cleaning a gash on his cheek. John grimaced a bit at the stinging sensation.

John sighed. “There’s not much to say, to be honest. I took Maya to the park yesterday after my shift, and as we were leaving, right as it was starting to get dark and I thought you might be home from Bart’s, we got kidnapped. We just got grabbed and shoved into the back of a car with bags on our heads faster than I could even think about shouting for help. Then they took us to that house and tied us up then started interrogating me, asking me the stupidest questions, like where you lived and how long we had been living together, as if that wasn’t somewhat common knowledge. I think they were mainly trying to traumatize Maya by watching me take a beating. They asked me where you were and at first I didn’t tell them but after I was punched in the face enough times I finally said that you were probably at St. Bart’s and wouldn’t be home until late that night. I’m sorry I gave you up so easily.” He opened his eyes and looked at Sherlock apologetically.

Sherlock shrugged. “I would have done the exact same thing in your position. You did it for Maya. She didn’t need to see you killed in front of her before I could even get to you.”

John swallowed and nodded. Sherlock took a clean wipe and started on the other side of John’s face gently.

“They hit me enough times that I passed out and when I woke up, it was pitch black and there was a gag in my mouth. And then…god, we were tied to those chairs for hours in the dark. I had no idea what was happening. I only knew Maya was still next to me because she kept making little noises every once in a while. She tried to be brave Sherlock, she really did, but she was so scared. Before they gagged us, I told her that you would come for us, and I think that thought was the only thing convincing her to stay strong.” John sighed again and shook his head when Sherlock pulled his hands away, satisfied that all of John’s wounds were adequately cared for.

Sherlock exhaled deeply and nodded. “I knew you were in trouble when no one knew where you were, not even Mycroft. I had everyone I could think of out looking for you. Which reminds me, my brother is probably especially cross with me at the moment. I’d better text him before he sends the entirety of British intelligence services to our flat.”

John laughed. “I wouldn’t put it past him to do so either.”

Sherlock bit his lip and hesitated before continuing. “But thank god both of you are safe. I would have never forgiven myself if anything had happened to either of you in that house.” He paused and looked at John seriously. “Moran was right when he said that you and Maya were the people in my life most dear to me. I would gladly sacrifice myself for either of you if the situation called for it…I hope you understand that.”

John swallowed and stared at Sherlock for a very long moment before speaking. “Of course I do. All too well, actually, as you’ve done it before. I know you wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. But you should also know I feel the same way about you…so I hope the day for us to test that theory never comes.” He paused and cleared his throat, letting the moment pass. It was rare to get such a sentimental outburst like that from Sherlock. “At least we’re all safe now. And we don’t have to worry about Sebastian Moran anymore.”

A long, empty silence fell over them for a minute or two. Sherlock stared at a spot on the kitchen table intently and John stared out into space. They were both trying to process how exactly they had managed to both outsmart Sebastian Moran and get out of that house alive.

“For once I should have listened to my brother,” Sherlock said in a quiet voice, staring at John’s medical bag. “He warned me that Maya would be in danger if she was in my care, that one of my enemies would find a way to use her against me. He was right. Why the bloody hell would Irene think I could be a suitable parent for her?” he finished bitterly, shaking his head.

John shook his head, furrowing his eyebrows as he looked at Sherlock sternly. “You weren’t the one who kidnapped her, Sherlock. Mycroft may have been right for once, but you didn’t intentionally put her in harm’s way. Gaining enemies in your line of work is inevitable; it’s a dangerous job, as we both know.”

Sherlock shook his head, slamming his fist on the table in frustration. “But I’m supposed to protect her, John! And I failed! Sebastian Moran kidnapped her, they tortured you in front of her before I even got there, and then she watched me hold a gun to your head before I killed five people in front of her. She’s four years old, for god’s sake! I may be an awful excuse for a father, but even I know the amount of danger Maya has been in while under my watch is not normal.” He sighed and exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair.

“Sherlock, look at me.” When he didn’t, John placed a hand over one of Sherlock’s and Sherlock immediately looked up at him. “None of that matters because we are all safe now. It was out of your control. The point is that we’re all in one piece. And you aren’t that terrible of a dad, honestly.” He removed his hand from on top of Sherlock’s then leaned back in his chair, clearing his throat.

Sherlock swallowed and bit his lip, looking down at the table again. “I was supposed to keep both of you safe, John. What was the point of me faking my death just to keep you safe only to have you put in danger once again because of me the moment I returned? And how I am supposed to keep Maya safe now that I know she can so easily be snatched away from me like that? Sebastian Moran may be gone, but it doesn’t mean that someone else might try something in a few years. Like Mycroft said, I can’t keep her safe forever.”

John shook his head. “Are you listening to anything I’m saying? Sherlock, I’ve known for years that being associated with you is going to put me in danger on a somewhat regular basis, even more so if I live with you. And that’s okay. I know the risks and I haven’t run away screaming yet, have I?” He sighed again and gave Sherlock an exasperated look, not knowing how to get his point across. “Yes, it’s true you can’t keep Maya safe forever. But isn’t that a lesson every parent learns? She may only be four years old right now, but one day she’s going to go out into the real world, away from you, to make her own way as an adult. And you won’t be able to keep her safe then. I understand what you’re saying and I know you’re scared that something is going to happen to her, but you can’t afford to think like that. You can’t keep her sheltered and protected from everything forever, Sherlock. You need to let her experience life and show her how to live in that real world. That’s not to say that you can’t protect her like you did today, but…I don’t know, I just think you’re overthinking it, mate.”

“How do you always manage to say the right thing? You’re one of the few people who can actually talk some sense into me,” Sherlock said, giving John a small smile. He sighed. “I know you’re right. I’m just a bit…shaken, right now. All I know is that now more than ever I am willing to do whatever it takes to keep Maya safe. I refuse to fail her again.”

John smiled at Sherlock and shook his head. “You didn’t fail her, Sherlock. You saved her. And you saved me. Again.”

Sherlock hid his smile from John and looked down again, allowing another silence to fall over them. Neither of them spoke for a long time and it felt like the conversation was over but neither of them had the energy or desire to get up and leave or make tea. Sherlock felt like he should go check on Maya (even if it had been less than an hour since he tucked her in on the sofa) but was too content sitting in silence with John to move his legs. They both stared off into space, each of them deep in thought.

John finally flicked his eyes over to Sherlock and looked at him for so long it made him nervous.

“What? Did I do something wrong?” Sherlock offered, raising his eyes to John’s, always assuming that was the case for John staring at him for so long in silence.

“Sherlock, I’m an idiot.” John shifted closer to Sherlock in his chair. Their knees were touching lightly now, they were sitting so close.

Sherlock cleared his throat, feeling his face warm slightly at John’s sudden proximity. “Um. You do know that I’m usually kidding when I call you an idiot. You’re surprisingly competent most of the time. Not an imbecile in the slightest. I mean, compared to most people.”

John smiled and looked down at his shoes for a moment. “No, I really am an idiot. What you did today was bloody incredible. You threw yourself into the line of fire for Maya without question. And for me. Even when I was prepared to die if it meant you and Maya would get out of there alive, you wouldn’t let me; you found an alternative in an otherwise impossible situation.”

“Well I couldn’t exactly let either of you—” Sherlock began, and John cut him off by holding up his hand.

“Hold on, I’m not finished. I know we’re bloody awful about talking about these kinds of things, and maybe it’s only because we both came close to actually dying today and there’s a lot of intense emotions going on right now but…I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for the way things have been since…since the wedding. I know things have been different between us, no matter how much I told you things weren’t going to change…they did. And now that my marriage has blown up in my face, I’ve realized that I should have seen the signs before. I’m an idiot for not realizing it sooner.”

“Even my powers of deduction couldn’t detect that your wife was going to cheat on you less than a year into your marriage, John. I’d hardly say that’s based on any level of your own stupidity,” Sherlock interrupted.

John sighed and shook his head. “No, not about that. About…about us.”

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows, puzzled. “I don’t understand your meaning. What are we talking about right now?”

John smiled and looked at Sherlock. He placed his hand on Sherlock’s knee hesitantly but held it there, holding Sherlock’s gaze.

Sherlock’s breath caught. John was touching him. John was holding his knee, much like he did on his stag night where he had said casually, “I don’t mind.” It was all he could do to just simply stare back. He most certainly didn’t mind at all in this moment.

John exhaled deeply and took a deep breath before continuing. “That’s because you’re an idiot too. Sherlock, I know—I know I’ve told you that I find this sort of thing difficult, but I’m trying, really.” He took another deep breath. “When you jumped off that roof at St. Bart’s, my entire world came crashing down. So when you came back, I was furious, of course. You left me. You could have come back at any time once you knew I was safe, but you waited two years instead. _Two years_ , Sherlock. So of course I decided to move on. I thought Mary was going to be the one who saved me. I thought she was going to be the best thing that had ever happened to me…but then you weren’t dead, obviously. And although it took an embarrassingly long time for me to realize this—like you always say, I see but do not observe—I know now that I was wrong. Mary was not the one who saved me. _You were_.”

Sherlock was simply staring at John this entire time, trying to process what exactly he was hearing. As John spoke, he rubbed his thumb gently over Sherlock’s knee, whether he realized he was doing it or not, and Sherlock felt like he never wanted John to stop touching him ever again.

“You saved me long before you jumped to your fake death. You taught me that I could smile and laugh again after the war, that I had a life worth living. Just because I got shot didn’t mean I couldn’t live my life and be happy again. You showed me what it was like to be alive again, albeit in ridiculous ways that almost got me killed half the time, today being a prime example. But truthfully, if I hadn’t met you, who knows where I would be. All I know is that I doubt I would be as happy as I am right now.”

He took a deep breath and looked at Sherlock intently. He swallowed hard and stared at him for a moment before continuing. He shakily took one of Sherlock’s hands in his and linked their fingers together loosely, squeezing gently.

“My point is, I think I, um…I think I may be in love with you, Sherlock. And have been for a very long time. I just didn’t fully realize it until now. Granted, I did think about it before…when we were living together, I had thought about what it would be like. A few times I actually had to hold myself back from kissing you over the breakfast table because of how gorgeous you looked. But when I met Mary, all those feelings disappeared; you were dead, and I thought I couldn’t be into blokes anyway, or that you would even have been interested. I thought I had moved on for good. But spending time with you and Maya these past few months, and watching how you are with her and seeing how much love you have for that little girl…I think it’s made me fall in love with you all over again. It’s made me realize the kind of person you are, to rediscover the Sherlock Holmes I fell in love with long ago, even if I didn’t know it was love back then. Even though we’re both different now, after all we’ve been through, you are still someone I can see myself spending the rest of my life with.”

John was about to say something else when Sherlock suddenly leaned forward in his chair and pressed his lips against John’s. He kissed him softly, holding the side of John’s face in one hand and moving his lips gently against John’s, memorizing the blissfulness of the sensation. He kissed him as deeply and passionately as he could, fully aware that he didn’t actually know what he was doing but knowing that he was kissing John, John Watson, _his John_.

After a few seconds, he forced himself to pull away. Sherlock looked into John’s somewhat dazed blue eyes and whispered, “You talk too much,” in a low voice before leaning in for another kiss.

He felt John smile against his lips for a moment before he responded just as enthusiastically, dropping his hand from Sherlock’s knee so he could grab the back of his neck and pull him towards him even more forcefully. They moved their lips desperately against one another, barely pulling away for air.

John pulled away for just a moment, just long enough to make eye contact with Sherlock, asking him silently if this is what he wanted. The look Sherlock gave him in return was enough to make him smash their mouths together once again, John burying his hands in Sherlock’s curls and Sherlock placing a hand on John’s waist, tangling his fingers in the material of his t-shirt. After a moment they awkwardly stood up from their chairs while still kissing, wrapping their arms around each other. John’s chair knocked over to the side behind him but neither of them paid it any attention.

They kissed each other like their lives depended on it, like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. Sherlock could hardly believe that he was finally kissing John; after so many years of imagining what it could feel like, nothing compared to the heat and passion of the real thing. He couldn’t think for the life of him in that moment what had possibly stopped him from doing this long ago. Sherlock held John’s face in both his hands and kissed him softly yet insistently as John snaked his arms around Sherlock’s waist and pulled their bodies closer together. Sherlock parted his lips slightly when he felt John press his tongue against them and allowed John to explore his mouth thoroughly. He doubted he would ever tire of kissing this man.

With strangled breaths, John shoved Sherlock up against the countertop and rolled their hips together forcefully while still kissing him deeply and thoroughly. Sherlock could already feel that John was half-hard beneath his jeans, and he stopped himself from moaning as John thrust their hips together once more. Sherlock moved his lips to John’s neck, nibbling and sucking gently, trying to explore every part of it, leaving his mark to make John his and his alone. John responded by kissing Sherlock firmly on the mouth once again, running his tongue along his bottom lip and nibbling just hard enough to make Sherlock respond with even more strangled breaths. The heat between them was multiplying by the second and Sherlock wasn’t sure how much more of it he could take before falling completely over the edge. He was practically whimpering at the way John was grabbing and pulling at him, as if he couldn’t get enough of Sherlock just by touching him.

They continued kissing, grabbing and thrusting at each other for a few minutes in a tangle of sloppy, desperate limbs combined with quiet moans and struggling breaths, until John began to reach for Sherlock’s trousers, which he swiftly unbuttoned and was about to yank down his thighs when Sherlock placed his hands over John’s and managed a strangled, “Wait.”

Struggling a bit to come out of his lust-filled haze, Sherlock looked at John then gestured with his head to the living room. “As much as I would love to continue this affair,” he breathed, still trying to catch his breath while resisting the urge to hoist John up on the kitchen table and have him right there, “My four year old daughter is currently asleep on the sofa, and I’d rather not scar her for life for what she may see or hear if we start having sex in the kitchen right this very second.”

With a great effort, John nodded and slowly made sense of Sherlock’s words. “Right,” he said, breathing just as heavily. “No, you’re right. Not now.” He looked up at Sherlock and kissed him deeply, drawing the kiss out for as long as possible before pulling away. “But we’re not finished,” he murmured in Sherlock’s ear, nibbling his earlobe gently before he pulled away and making him shiver.

Just as John was about to turn to the kettle to make tea, Sherlock grabbed his arm and gave him one last firm kiss on the mouth, drawing it out longer than necessary so John was looking at him dizzily by the time he was finished. “Just so you know, you’re not an idiot for not seeing the signs before. You’re an idiot for thinking that I didn’t love you too. Of course I was interested. I’ve loved you since the first day we met. Obviously.” He smirked and released John, his face flushing a deep red but his heart fluttering with happiness.

“Then we are simply two idiots who deserve each other.” He smiled and kissed Sherlock’s cheek. “Tea?” he offered.

Sherlock nodded, squeezing John’s hand before releasing it, a huge grin on his face. He didn’t know if he would ever stop smiling again.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John are finally together, and Irene returns. Now the question is: what to do with Maya?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. So this is the last chapter before the epilogue (expect that to be posted sometime next week!) and it's much longer than I expected it to be (almost 10k words, oops) because I had more to wrap up here than I thought. But because I promised 10 chapters plus an epilogue, I'm too lazy to change my mind and split this chapter into two parts, so here's an extra long chapter for you all! 
> 
> Thank you all so much for sticking with this fic for so long, if you have. It's the longest fic I've ever written (suddenly 42k happened and I was like whoa) and it's been a bit of a struggle and more of a commitment than I initially thought. But we are here and there is only one more chapter after this which just wraps everything up into a neat little bow. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter and it ends the way you want it to. As always, any comments and feedback are appreciated. Love you guys! <3

Three weeks later, it was suddenly February.

Although John and Sherlock had somehow avoided being in a romantic relationship for the entire six odd years or so of knowing each other, their entire friendship starting with an instant attraction and everyone they knew constantly making jokes about it, nothing had prepared them for how blissfully wonderful being a couple really was. It was almost a relief, like a weight being lifted off their shoulders, like it was simply meant to happen sooner or later. Everything between them felt so natural, so right; it honestly baffled them both how they hadn’t made that daring leap long ago.

Even when their first experience in the bedroom consisted of countless awkward moments and Sherlock being so nervous about pleasing John that he was actually shaking head to toe once they were unclothed and in the bed, they somehow made it work. Granted, John knew it was perhaps the strangest and most awkward sexual experience of his life, but he also knew that they were both still learning, especially about knowing each other in such an intimate way. He was more than willing to take things as slow as Sherlock liked if it meant that every night in their bed was special and he knew his partner was happy.

So they fell into an unexpectedly comfortable routine together, one that was not all that different from before except for the sleepy morning kisses at breakfast, sharing a bed (plus having sex in said bed almost every night), and the way they both found excuses to touch each other throughout the day. It almost felt like they had been together for years rather than just a few weeks, although in a way they had already been together that long.

Sherlock was honestly in shock of it all and couldn’t believe that John wasn’t playing a sick practical joke on him; after all this time, to find that the love between them was actually mutual was almost too good to be true. But as the days and weeks wore on after that fatal first kiss in the kitchen, Sherlock realized the most amazing man he had ever met, John Watson, wanted _him_.

What was even better about their newfound relationship was the fact that Maya barely seemed to notice much of a difference between them. When John leaned down to kiss Sherlock at the breakfast table one morning shortly after they had gotten together, the first time he had ever kissed Sherlock in front of Maya, Sherlock froze and looked down at her, who simply grinned up at them over her cereal and carried on as if nothing was amiss.

Sherlock suspected that Maya had somehow known this was going to happen and had already accepted John as a kind of second father to her anyway; it was only logical that he and her actual father would be so affectionate with each other, especially since they were living together. Apparently even Sherlock’s four year old daughter could see how much John and Sherlock cared for one another, even better than they did.

John and Sherlock decided not to make a big deal out of this advancement in their relationship. They didn’t make a dramatic announcement to everyone but simply let people find out for themselves. Mrs. Hudson had walked in on Sherlock playfully kissing John and wrapping his arms around his waist as he nipped and nuzzled at his neck in the kitchen one day as John pretended to hide the box of tea bags from him and she had simply let out a little squeal and an “Oh my! It’s about time, boys,” before scurrying back downstairs. Sherlock and John had simply looked at each other and burst into a fit of laughter.

Molly and Greg had found out while Sherlock was examining some evidence in St. Bart’s while discussing a case with Lestrade. John had come into the lab unexpectedly and surprised Sherlock, saying he had managed to get off his shift at the surgery early. He immediately greeted Sherlock with a quick kiss to his lips and told him, “Since Maya’s with Mrs. Hudson until later tonight, I thought we could use a date night, yeah? Dinner at Angelo’s maybe? I don’t think I’ve taken you out on a proper date yet, and we are embarrassingly overdue for that.”

Sherlock blushed furiously and cleared his throat several times before replying “Erm, yes, of course. Dinner. Dinner would be…good.” He flicked his eyes to Molly and Greg for a moment, who were both staring at John and Sherlock with wide eyes and slightly open mouths, then looked away, his face flushing an even deeper shade of red.

John smiled at Sherlock, knowing full well how much he had just embarrassed him and how much he was going to hear later from Sherlock about catching him so off-guard like that, then turned to Molly and Greg. “Alright, you two? You may want to pick your jaws up off the floor.”

Molly immediately shut her mouth and blushed, muttering “Sorry” while shaking her head.

Greg cleared his throat and continued looking from John to Sherlock, dumbfounded. “You mean? You two? Seriously? This isn’t a joke?”

John shook his head, unable to hold back a grin. “I’m afraid not, Greg. Come on, it’s not that unexpected, is it? Everyone’s been predicting it for years. Everyone but us, that is.” He turned his head back to Sherlock and intertwined their fingers together. Sherlock was still blushing but smiled shyly back at John and squeezed his fingers gently.

Greg suddenly pumped his fist in the air. “Yes! Anderson owes me fifty quid! I knew it!”

“Greg!” Molly hissed, punching him hard in the arm.

“Ouch!” He glared at her while rubbing his arm but cleared his throat after a moment and said, “Congrats, you two. Really, I mean it. You’re great together, in all senses of the word.”

*  *  *

One night in mid-February, a cozy fire was roaring, engulfing the entire flat in warmth. Maya was curled up on the sofa under blankets with a pile of books beside her, mumbling quietly to herself, John was reading the paper in his armchair with a cup of tea next to him, and Sherlock was working at the desk with his laptop, catching up on some documenting of past cases.

As it neared eight o’clock, John sighed and put down his book, looking over at Sherlock who was busily typing away on his laptop. He had been sat in almost the same position for the past five hours or so, not even pausing his work to eat dinner with John and Maya. Although documenting his cases was important, John thought five hours was plenty of time to spend on such an activity. Sherlock was wasting time he could be spending with John doing something that John was certain was far less entertaining than himself.

He stood up from his chair and walked behind Sherlock’s chair at the desk, where he wrapped his arms around the detective’s neck, leaning down onto his shoulders lightly and kissing his cheek. Sherlock stopped typing at the kiss and closed his eyes for a moment but simply said with an exasperated sigh, “John. I’m working.”

“I know. You’ve been working for nearly five hours now and haven’t said ten words to me in that time. Not fair.” He kissed the side of Sherlock’s neck and nuzzled him gently in the areas of his neck he knew were sensitive and would make Sherlock squirm.

Sherlock made a quiet gasping noise and shifted in his chair slightly, unable to move much with John leaning down on his shoulders the way he was. John kissed his neck again and he sighed, shaking his head. “I’m nearly finished. You can wait.”

John hummed against Sherlock’s neck then kissed his cheek again. “But what if I can’t?” he whined, making a pouting face at Sherlock. “I’ve barely seen you all day and I’m tired from my shift at the surgery, and you’ve been working all day too. I just want to cuddle with my boyfriend by the fire for a while tonight, is that too much to ask?” He nuzzled Sherlock’s neck again, smiling as he did so.

Sherlock made a grumbling noise but was smiling slightly as he continued to type. He loved it when John actually referred to him as his boyfriend, and John knew it. “You’re very manipulative, do you know that?” Sherlock teased, turning his head to John.

John laughed. “But you love me anyway,” he replied, sneaking a quick peck on Sherlock’s lips.

“You’re impossible,” Sherlock said, unable to hold back his smile.

“Not as much as you,” John teased, then reached forward and closed the lid of Sherlock’s laptop. “There. I made the decision for you. No more work tonight. I’m much more fun.” He then came around the side of Sherlock’s chair and leaned down to kiss him properly with a long, soft kiss.

Just a few seconds into this blissful kiss, they were suddenly interrupted by a familiar voice in the doorway saying, “And you say you’re not a couple. John, how could you lie to me like that?”

John and Sherlock pulled away immediately and looked over to see Irene Adler standing in the doorway to the flat. She was dressed in a pair of jeans, tall black boots and a light blue jumper with a leather jacket over it, her black hair gathered in a high bun on her head; besides looking a bit ragged and exhausted with the dark bags under her eyes, she seemed to be in no worse shape than when Sherlock had last seen her in the flat so many months ago, although perhaps a bit thinner.

“Mommy!” Maya squealed, throwing off her blankets and scrambling off the sofa and throwing herself into her mother’s open arms as she grinned and crouched on the ground in front of the coffee table.

Sherlock immediately stood up from his chair as John moved to the side, looking a bit pale. Sherlock had forgotten that John hadn’t seen her in years and until a few months ago believed her to be dead.

“Irene. Why didn’t you text me? I haven’t heard from you for days,” Sherlock said to her, slightly irritated.

She shrugged and heaved Maya up into her arms, hugging her tightly. “I had to destroy my phone, since it was evidence, and didn’t get a chance to get a new one or contact you in any other way before I had to get out of Russia. I would have told you, really. I was in a bit of a hurry to get out of there after my business was finished, you understand.”

When Sherlock glanced at Maya in Irene’s arms and saw how happy she was to see her mother, he immediately softened his demeanor. “Welcome back, then,” he said, smiling a little.

“Thank you darling,” Irene replied, walking over to the desk where Sherlock was standing and leaning upwards on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek while still holding Maya in her arms. Maya giggled as she was squished between her parents at the movement.

“Hello then,” John said after she stepped away, clearing his throat. “Good to see you’re not dead.”

Irene smiled a bit at John and laughed. “Easy soldier, I’m not after your man. I already had him once, and that was enough. I know you were always the jealous type, though. But really, congratulations to you two. I take it that marriage of yours didn’t work out? Sherlock was pouting about it last time I was here. I do hope you and Sherlock are doing well.”

Sherlock flushed slightly and stared carefully at a spot on the rug. Both of the only lovers he had ever had were suddenly standing in the same room, and to say it was a bit awkward was an understatement.

John laughed humorlessly. “Very funny. We were doing just fine until you showed up, actually. And I would appreciate it if you didn’t poke fun at my marriage. It’s none of your bloody business, thanks.”

Irene’s face fell and she cleared her throat, shifting Maya in her arms slightly. “I’m sorry if I offended you, John, I meant no disrespect. I was always rooting for you and Sherlock, in the end. I mean it. If anyone in the world deserves each other, it’s you two. I honestly wish you all the happiness in the world.”

John huffed and crossed his arms, shrugging but still a bit irritated. “Alright,” he replied curtly, letting the subject drop. He had never liked Irene in the first place and suddenly she was back in the flat acting the same way she did all those years ago, with an effortless confidence and nonchalant attitude. Her charms may have worked on Sherlock, but they definitely didn’t work on him.

Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes at John, knowing he would just darken his mood further. Irene was not wrong about John being the jealous type. Now that Sherlock was officially his, he was especially keen to not have to share him with anyone, particularly Irene Adler.

An awkward silence fell and Irene turned to her daughter, who was still grinning at her widely, as if she couldn’t believe her mother was holding her again. “I can’t believe how big you are! I missed you so much, my love, and I am so sorry I couldn’t get back sooner. Especially for your birthday. Four years old and growing so fast! How did I get so lucky to have such a beautiful girl?”

Maya laughed as Irene covered her face and neck in kisses.

“How has your father been treating you? Well, I hope? I know he’s a bit of a strange man, but I do hope you took a liking to each other while I was away.” Irene looked up at Sherlock and smiled.

Maya turned her head to Sherlock and grinned. “Yeah, Daddy is good. He takes care of me. And saves me from bad men. John helps too.” She turned back to Irene and grinned sweetly at her mother.

Sherlock shrugged casually at her when Irene shot him a concerned look that said: _We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?_

Irene then walked over to the sofa and sat down on it with Maya, just like she had done some seven months ago when Sherlock had first met his daughter. “I’ll tell you everything I can later. And then I’m sure we have some additional matters to discuss,” she said knowingly to Sherlock, and he nodded at her before mumbling something about tea and dragging John into the kitchen with him before he said any more rude things to the mother of his child.

* * *

That night, Irene was obviously staying in the flat. The bed upstairs was big enough for both her and Maya, and Sherlock knew that she deserved every second with their daughter after being separated from her for so long.

An hour or two after Irene had disappeared upstairs with Maya and they had both bid their goodnights to the two men, Sherlock stood up from the desk (where he had continued to work on his laptop again, despite John’s protests) and walked over to John’s chair, stopping directly in front of him. John was still acting sulky from earlier and hadn’t said much to Sherlock since Irene arrived. He pretended to be highly absorbed in his book and ignored him, despite the shadow he was casting over his reading light.

Sherlock snatched the book from John’s hands and tossed it carelessly onto the ground then collapsed into John’s chair on top of him, sprawling his legs over the armrest and sitting on John’s lap rather ungracefully. He wrapped his arms around John and huddled close to him, kissing the side of his neck and nuzzling him affectionately.

John grumbled and shifted awkwardly in his chair, not thrilled to be suddenly stuck with a lap full of consulting detective crushing him. “This chair is not big enough for the two of us,” he said.

“Mmm,” Sherlock replied, planting a line of kisses up John’s jaw. He could feel John’s pulse quicken as he moved closer to his lips.

“Sherlock, you’re going to cut off my circulation at some point. Now I know why we’ve never done this before. I think you’re crushing my thighs with your bony arse.”

Sherlock pulled away slightly to look at John and purposefully shifted in John’s lap, grinning when he managed to hit just the right spot in John’s crotch with his bottom and John let out a little gasp in response. He then leaned forward, moving his hands to the back of John’s neck and kissing him softly, darting his tongue into John’s mouth and intensifying the kiss just enough to get John hot and bothered, drawing it out for as long as he could before he had to pull away for air.

“And you say I’m the manipulative one,” John murmured, trying to catch his breath as Sherlock pulled away. John kissed him quickly once more. “You annoying git.”

Sherlock laughed and pressed his forehead gently to John’s, smiling and closing his eyes.

“You know that you have nothing to be jealous about when it comes to Irene, right? We are absolutely finished. I told you, the night of Maya’s conception didn’t even have any emotional attachment to it whatsoever. And if you haven’t noticed, I’m a bit partial to you,” he said softly, wrapping his arms even tighter around John then kissing his neck again, this time nibbling it lightly in the way he knew John liked. “So please don’t be angry at her, or at me. She’s not going to get between us in the slightest, I swear. You have nothing to worry about.”

John shivered at the feeling of Sherlock’s soft lips on his neck and sighed, nodding and pulling Sherlock closer to him by wrapping his arms around his waist. He rested his head against Sherlock’s and sighed. “I know. I’m sorry I overreacted earlier. But she’s always been the only woman to ever get any kind of response out of you, and I think she scares me a bit because of that. I’m not angry. And I promise to be civil to her from now on.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock replied, kissing John’s forehead gently.

“But I may have to kiss you more in front of her,” John said suddenly, pulling away to look at Sherlock. “I get a bit possessive sometimes, I know, but it’s just part of my nature. It’s more of a reassurance to myself than anything else.”

Sherlock chuckled, and John smiled as he felt him shake slightly in his lap. “Do you think I would complain about you kissing me more than usual? That is the complete opposite of a problem.”

John laughed and grinned at Sherlock. “Bed?”

Sherlock nodded and pulled away from John, standing up and taking his hand before leading him down the hall to the bedroom.

About an hour later, as John and Sherlock lay in bed wrapped up in each other’s arms, Sherlock couldn’t sleep. He could tell that John had just drifted off to sleep not long ago by his now even breathing and steady heartbeat that Sherlock could hear with his head resting in the crook of John’s neck, with John’s arms curled around his shoulders and their legs slightly entangled beneath the sheets.

But Sherlock couldn’t turn his brain off to even begin thinking about sleep. He was thinking about Maya and Irene and everything that had happened to him within the past year, trying to comprehend it all. It wasn’t fitting into his mind palace as well as he wanted it to, like his logic was failing him for once because he was so confused.

It appeared that sentiment was getting the better of him once again, something he was surprised was happening more and more often lately. It shouldn’t be surprising, considering he was now in a committed relationship with John and had a four year old to take care of, but Sherlock was still grappling with the feelings of…well, feelings. Mycroft would tell him that he had gone soft, which he supposed was true. He put his guard down for both Maya and John, something that very few people in the world had the privilege to see. There was no pretending with either of them, which was a bit of a relief to Sherlock rather than a burden, thankfully. 221B felt more like home now than Sherlock could ever remember it feeling like before. And it shocked him that he actually found that a comforting rather than disconcerting notion.

Sharing a bed with John had made him more willing to sleep somewhat more regularly, but nights like this where his mind was still active and running in circles about something or other, it was practically impossible for him to get to sleep. He either lay there for hours listening to John’s steady breathing or he gave up and went out to the living room to work away on his laptop in an effort to do something productive.

Sherlock sighed and ran his fingers over the soft bare skin of John’s chest and up towards his shoulders lightly, so light that he knew it wouldn’t disturb him. Every night he fell asleep in John’s arms or John fell asleep in his, he was in awe that it was all a reality. Sometimes he willed himself never to drift off to sleep just so he could continually remind himself that John was still there beside him. To have gone so long without touching this man in that way, without knowing what his smooth, steady breaths felt like when he was sleeping or how warm and wonderful his touch felt on Sherlock’s own skin, was a tragedy in Sherlock’s eyes. He hadn’t known he had wanted something like this in his life, that this was what he had been missing for years, let alone that John Watson would be the one to give it to him. He could have had this kind of happiness years ago.

But maybe not. Maybe it had taken everything they had been through together: countless near death experiences, Sherlock faking his death, defeating both Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran, John getting married (and now very soon getting divorced), and Maya stumbling into their lives, for them to truly realize what they meant to one another. Through this odd journey of parenthood that John had tumbled into with Sherlock somewhat unwillingly at first, not only had Sherlock become a true father, but John had realized how much this strange man meant to him. It had taken a cheating wife and almost being shot in the skull for him to realize it, but he had. And in return, Sherlock came to the startling realization that there really was no other life he wanted to have than one that had his John in it.

Finally Sherlock couldn’t take the silence anymore. “John,” he said softly. John didn’t stir. “John?” he repeated, this time a little louder. He nudged John’s head with his own and said his name once more, and John finally began to shift a little beneath the sheets.

“Wha’s happen?” John mumbled, still half asleep, jerking his body upwards slightly as he was startled awake. He yawned and stretched, taking a moment to actually wake up. “What time is it?” he asked, obviously noticing the room was still pitch black.

“About 3am,” Sherlock replied in the darkness.

John groaned and Sherlock felt him throw his head back onto the pillow. “Sherlock, I had just fallen asleep! What is so important that you had to wake me up?” He paused. “Wait, you didn’t have a nightmare again, did you? I usually hear you when that happens.”

Sherlock shook his head against John’s chest. “No, it’s not that. I’m just thinking…about Maya and what’s going to happen to her now that Irene has returned. I’m sorry, I just really can’t sleep.”

John sighed and leaned away from Sherlock for a moment to flip on the bedside lamp. He then shifted up slightly, propping some pillows against the headboard and resting his back against them, pulling Sherlock back into his chest. Sherlock immediately wrapped his arms around John’s bare midsection and rested his head near his sternum. John placed a hand back on Sherlock’s shoulder and massaged his thumb into Sherlock’s upper arm lightly.

“What do you mean about what happens to her?” John said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and squinting down at Sherlock as his eyes adjusted to the light.

Sherlock cleared his throat, hesitating before continuing. “I just…I’m afraid that now that her mother is back, Maya won’t…she won’t want to spend time with me anymore. I’ve only been in her life for the past seven months, and before that, Irene was her whole world. I just…I think that Irene’s going to take her away from me now that she’s finished her business.”

John shook his head. “I don’t think that’s going to happen. Maya loves you, I can see it with you two every day. If Irene intends to cut you out of their life, she has another thing coming. What, you think she’s going to take your daughter and live in some odd part of the world in such a secluded place that you’ll never see either of them again?”

Sherlock sighed, closing his eyes. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. I’m afraid of Maya growing up somewhere else in the world and then forgetting that she spent less than a year with her father when she was four years old. I don’t…I don’t want to lose her, John.”

“You’re not going to, Sherlock; I promise you that.” He squeezed Sherlock’s shoulders tightly, drawing him further into his chest.

“But can you? Maya means more to me than I ever thought she could. To know that I was responsible for giving her life, that there is this tiny human being that shares half of my genetics walking this earth and that it’s her, this amazing, intelligent and brave little girl…it’s unreal to me. Parenthood was something I never thought I would ever want, let alone actually have. But now it’s almost like I can’t imagine how my life was before Maya; it doesn’t really matter that much anymore, whatever it was like. And I…I just…the fact that she loves me just as much, that she wants me in her life and doesn’t think I’m weird or scary or strange like most kids do…it just makes me love her more. No one ever wants to spend time with me the way Maya does, even if she’s only four. She’s one of the few people in the world who doesn’t judge me for who I am. She accepts me entirely, even when I tried to push her away so much in the beginning, she just pushed back, refusing to let herself be pushed away.”

He paused, his eyes beginning to water. He swallowed hard before continuing. “And now I feel like this, and I just don’t know. It’s all just a big bloody mess, and somehow I thought Irene might never come back from Russia, and I…I don’t know. Part of me wants to let Maya go, to let her live her life with her mother, but part of me wants to keep raising her here in 221B, and to be with her through absolutely everything for as long as I can. I know a childhood spent with me as her father may not be the best for her but…I don’t know how to feel anymore, John.”

John stayed silent, running a hand through Sherlock’s hair gently, waiting for him to finish.

Sherlock exhaled and shook his head. “For my entire life, people have been abandoning me. I’m a freak. People never want to be in the room with me for more than an hour, let alone actually spend time with me. A few years ago, I honestly did not think that anyone could ever be capable of caring about me because no one ever stuck around long enough for me to find out. I’m Sherlock Holmes; I push people away because I can’t stand imagining what I’ll feel like if they ever leave…it’s happened too many times before. Everything I’ve ever cared about has been taken from me…even you were taken away, when you got married. The night of your wedding was when I decided that I obviously wasn’t meant to be happy in life. It was simply impossible. Caring is not an advantage, John. You, the only man I had ever thought I loved, were moving on, leaving me, just as I had left you. I thought I deserved it, thought I was a complete imbecile for ever thinking I could have you in the first place. And now the same thing is going to happen with my daughter.”

With that, John leaned forward slightly, pushing Sherlock off his chest and pulling him up to a sitting position to face him. He took Sherlock’s hands in his and looked at him seriously. “Stop. Shut up. You are not a freak, first of all, and I never want to hear you call yourself that again. And I know you have struggled in the past; I’ve seen how you’ve pushed people away firsthand and I realize that you only close people off the way you do because not doing so has caused you so much pain before. I understand that you have felt unwanted and lonely for so many years, but I swear to you that I am not going to leave you. Ever. Why are you worrying about me leaving you when I’m sitting right here in front of you?”

Sherlock bit his lip and shook his head sadly. “You can’t promise that. No one can. How do you know that one day you won’t wake up in bed with me and realize that all of this was a mistake? That there’s someone better out there? Because I don’t doubt that there is. I don’t deserve you, John, and I doubt I ever will. Even if you say that I have you now, I’m going to spend my entire life thinking that our relationship is hanging by a thread, that you’ll disappear suddenly and it will be my fault. That’s what I think is going to happen with Maya too. I don’t deserve any of the happiness either of you give me.”

 John set his jaw and squeezed Sherlock’s hands firmly, a bit of anger flaring behind his eyes. He exhaled deeply before speaking again, preparing his words carefully. “No. No, that is utter horseshit and you know it. I don’t care if you think you don’t deserve me, because you’re stuck with me for my whole goddamn life, whether you like it or not. Know why?” He bit his lip and swallowed, looking at Sherlock sternly. “Because I’m going to marry you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes. I don’t care if it’s three months from now or three years from now, but as soon as those divorce papers go through, I am going to propose to you, you’re going to say yes, and we are going to be married. That is going to be the official stamp on the start of the rest of our lives, and you better bloody believe that I am going to spend every second of that time with you. You’re an absolute clot for thinking that I wouldn’t want to.”

John leaned forward and pulled Sherlock’s face to his, kissing him firmly on the mouth. He then pulled away after kissing him a few more times and wiped away Sherlock’s tears with his thumbs, holding his face in his hands and holding back tears of his own.

“What Maya has done for you and you have done for Maya these past seven months have been an incredible transformation to watch, and I don’t think you realize that. I know you love her, and I know she loves you. I never would have thought you capable of caring for another human being as much as you care for her, especially not a little girl. I wish you could see yourself how I see you: as this strong, loving, loyal and kind man who is so much more than a brilliant mind, willing to do anything and everything to make his daughter happy. You have come so far, Sherlock, and Maya has changed both our lives for the better. She brought us together, you know. Somehow she knew what we needed and she gave it to us, that last little push to finally force us to dive headfirst into this relationship. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He leaned forward and kissed Sherlock again, this time drawing out a long, soft kiss.

“You did absolutely everything for Maya, even if it took you a while to realize what she could mean to you. She is your daughter, Sherlock, and she will love you no matter what you do. It’s not a mess. You just love her so much that you’re starting to panic about her leaving and you don’t even know if she’s going to leave yet. And it’s making you jump to irrational conclusions about me leaving you as well, which is just so bloody wrong it’s frankly idiotic of you to even consider the thought in the first place. So just calm down, love. We’ll talk to Irene in the morning and work this out. Promise.”

Sherlock bit his lip and nodded, and John kissed him again.

“And if it’s worth anything, you’re one of the best goddamn parents I’ve ever seen, honestly. You have made mistakes, true, but that’s all part of being a parent. I know you have done everything you could for this girl, and it shows. It makes me love you even more for it as well.”

Sherlock let out a sob and wrapped his arms around John, pulling him close and burying his face in his neck. “Thank you,” he said softly, his voice muffled against John’s skin. John smiled and hugged Sherlock back, kissing the top of his head through his messy curls.

“I love you,” John said quietly, closing his eyes and stroking the back of Sherlock’s head lightly with one hand.

“I love you too,” Sherlock replied, pulling away from John’s neck and kissing his lips deeply.

* * *

The next morning, Maya came down for breakfast before either Irene or John was awake. She smiled when she saw Sherlock reading the paper with his tea and toast at the kitchen table and climbed up into his lap to give him a good morning kiss and hug, as was their ritual.

Maya was often up early like her father, something Sherlock suspected she only did because she knew Sherlock would be the first one up, usually getting up at least an hour or two before John.

“Sleep well?” Sherlock queried, standing up to hand Maya a bowl and spoon for her cereal.

Maya nodded. “Yeah. Mommy was really tired though, she’s still sleeping.”

Sherlock nodded. “John as well. I guess we’ll just have to wait for these sleepyheads to wake up and join us then, huh? Their loss. More cereal and tea for us.”

Maya laughed, smiling up at Sherlock as he poured cereal into her bowl and proceeding to randomly ask him a question about aliens, her favorite thing to discuss over breakfast.

Eventually John sleepily stumbled out into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s waist from behind as Sherlock prepared fresh cups of tea for them both, covering Sherlock’s neck in soft kisses. Sherlock grinned and turned around to face John, wrapping his arms around him and leaning down for a warm good morning kiss.

A while later, Irene finally walked into the kitchen, wrapped up in one of Sherlock’s dressing gowns that Maya had obviously stolen and dragged upstairs without Sherlock noticing. Sherlock flicked his eyes to John for a moment then turned his head back to the paper, pretending not to notice her attire.

John made a grumbling noise when he saw her in Sherlock’s clothes, which he covered up by shifting in his chair awkwardly and taking a sip of his tea. Unfortunately, Irene noticed his distaste and grimaced, looking down at the garment and realizing her mistake.

“Sorry. I clearly need to go shopping. It’s this or no clothes,” she said, shrugging.

“Nope, that’s definitely fine,” John said quickly, obviously remembering their first encounter with Irene Adler. “Don’t worry about it.” He cleared his throat and returned to his half of the paper.

After breakfast, everyone sat around the kitchen table, looking at each other expectantly.

Irene was the one who finally spoke first. “Well I suppose I should address the first elephant in the room, which is what the hell I was doing in Russia for seven months.”

Sherlock nodded and John sat there in silence; Irene took that as a sign she should continue.

“I can’t tell you much about what happened, but essentially I was, as I told Sherlock before I left, dealing with some Russian government operatives I had blackmailed in the past. Something had happened to one of their people at the top of the operation, which was basically the equivalent of the Russian mafia that controlled several businesses and government offices within Russia, and they had decided that it was my fault. They demanded I go to Russia immediately and give up any information I had, and in exchange, they would not throw me in a Russian prison for the rest of my life. Thank god they didn’t know I had a daughter or else they would have used her against me, I’m sure. They were all under the impression that I was still active in my…former profession,” she said the term delicately, choosing her words carefully as she shot a side glance at Maya, who was now busy with a coloring book, occasionally looking up at Irene as she spoke.

“So they wanted you to give them that blackmail information and then said they would let you go, just like that? Seems far too simple,” Sherlock mused, sitting back in his chair and taking a sip from his mug.

Irene nodded. “Naturally. Of course I knew they wanted something else, and although I didn’t know what it was, I knew I didn’t really have any other choice than to agree to all their terms. I was tired of running; after Maya was born, I had finally stopped running, and I couldn’t imagine putting her through something like that, as young as she is…” she trailed off, pausing to stroke Maya’s unruly mop of curls absentmindedly, staring off into space as if her mind was elsewhere.

The moment passed quickly, however, when John cleared his throat and Irene shook her head slightly to rid herself of her trance. “Anyway, I agreed to it all rather quickly, knowing it would be better if I dealt with it sooner rather than later, for Maya’s sake. When I made it to Russia, they told me I was so be working as an undercover agent for them to get information on one of their enemies. Long story short, it was a much more dangerous mission than I ever imagined it could be, and not everything went as planned. The Russian mobsters thought I had gone rogue and then went after me, and I ended up having to hide out and be on the run all winter. I was almost caught or killed more times than I can count. Finally in January I got ahold of the information I needed and decided I was more than finished with this business. I handed over the information, cleared my name with them then went on my way. I’m over-simplifying it of course, but that’s essentially what happened.” She exhaled, wrapping an arm around Maya’s shoulders and pulling her closer as she watched over her daughter’s shoulder as she colored a cartoon cat.

“Wow. That’s…quite the story,” John said finally, after a moment of silence. “I’m glad you’re safe and sound,” he said, genuinely sounding like he meant it, which earned a curious but pleased glance from Sherlock.

“Indeed,” Sherlock interjected. “Any other enemies we need to worry about?”

Irene laughed and shook her head. “I certainly hope not. I know I made several people angry in the past for the secrets I traded and the kind of profession and people I chose to associate myself with, but…hopefully those ghosts of my past don’t resurface anytime soon. Going through what I have this past year has made me realize how much I do not miss that kind of life. Motherhood is much more suitable, I think.”

Sherlock snorted. “I never thought I would hear Irene Adler utter those words. But I believe you’re right. And remind me never to take Maya on a holiday to Russia.”

Irene laughed. “Will do,” she replied.

After a pause, Irene spoke again. “Alright, your turn, boys. What exactly have you been up to these past seven months? Who are these ‘bad men’ Maya was talking about and how on earth did she get such a big scar on her arm? Should I be concerned?”

Sherlock and John laughed, exchanging glances with each other. Sherlock exhaled slowly as John nodded at him and said, “All you, love.”

“It’s a bit of a long story, but I’ll try to cover all the important points…” Sherlock began, and thus launched into a quick recap of his past few months spent with his daughter. John interrupted occasionally to add more details or laugh at Sherlock and correct him, telling him to just be blunt with his tale, including the details. Irene’s eyes widened at a few places and she looked a bit dumbfounded at others, but by the end of it all she was just smiling and shaking her head.

“I am honestly impressed with you both,” she said, glancing between the two men. “I told you that parenthood would be an adventure, but I think you outdid yourself, Sherlock.”

Another silence fell upon the group, this one much more comfortable. Sherlock was satisfied with Irene’s tale and believed her to be telling him the truth; he was honestly just glad the whole matter was resolved. Now she was up to speed on his half of the deal as well, and there weren’t many unsaid things between them about what they had both been through for the past odd eight months or so. Sherlock wanted to talk about what was next on his mind—the thing that was sitting at the kitchen table coloring away and what exactly her fate would be—but he wasn’t sure how to bring it up.

Sherlock could feel John’s eyes on him then, knowing exactly what Sherlock wanted to say to Irene, but he chose to ignore it. He finally broke the silence by saying that Maya needed to get dressed and brush her teeth; at first Irene began to get up to help, but Maya had told her simply, “Daddy can do it,” before skipping up the stairs. Sherlock couldn’t quite hide his smirk before he followed her through the door, making a point to give John a meaningful look before he did so, one that said “Be nice.”

Finding himself alone in the kitchen with The Woman, John shifted uncomfortably in his chair. This was the first time he could actually recall being alone in the same room with her. Irene didn’t appear to notice and instead took a sip of her tea and casually reached for a section of the paper that Sherlock had been reading.

“I hope you aren’t planning on taking Maya out of the country and settling down god knows where,” he said finally, voicing what had been gnawing at him all morning. He knew that if Sherlock wouldn’t bring it up, it was his job to do so.

Irene looked up at him, surprised. “Um. I’m not sure what we’re going to do,” was her careful reply.

John set his jaw slightly as he bit back a snarky retort and cleared his throat. “This ‘we’ better include Sherlock as well,” he said firmly.

Irene simply looked at him curiously, not sure how to respond.

“Please, Irene,” he said, surprising himself by actually using her name directly. The look on her face told him she was just as shocked at his tone. He exhaled, sighing and gripping his tea mug tightly in his hands. “You can’t just run off like you tend to do. I know what you’re thinking, but please don’t. You cannot take her from him. And I’m not just saying this because you and I have had our differences in the past. Sherlock needs Maya. And Maya needs Sherlock. You haven’t seen what I’ve seen these past seven months; spend enough time watching those two together and you’ll see exactly what I mean. Maya is his world right now. As hard as it is to believe, it’s true. And if you think you can just run off with her and never see Sherlock again, you can’t. I won’t let you. He’s been through enough without Maya leaving too.”

Irene nodded, swallowing. “Do you honestly think he can be a good father for her? The man barely knew how to feed himself regularly, last time I checked. And it sounds like she hasn’t been entirely safe in his care either.”

“How can you guarantee that she’ll be any safer in _your_ care?” John shot back, exasperated. He sighed. “Maya has parents with a long list of enemies, unfortunately, you can’t deny that. Sherlock may not be the best father and in no way is he a perfect one, but I believe that he is a good one. Or he’s at least trying to be, which is really all you can ask of him. Sherlock is a good man, and he loves Maya with that whole icy heart of his.”

“And he loves you,” she replied.

John nodded, swallowing hard. No matter how many times either of them said it, the word never felt powerful enough, never strong enough to really show how they felt about each other. He still wasn’t used to hearing it from Sherlock somewhat regularly. “Yes he does. And I love him.”

Irene smiled. “Clearly.”

Now that the words were coming out, John couldn’t stop talking. “I realize that you may not actually know what you want to do right now, but whatever you do, don’t run. Stay here in London or at least somewhere in England. You said yourself that you’re tired of running…so stop running. It’s as easy as that. Let Maya grow up with a father and let Sherlock keep striving to be the best father he can be. I promise you that you will not regret keeping him in her life. Please, Irene.”

Irene nodded at John’s words and sighed. “John, I know you may think me to be completely heartless, but I’m not. I understand what you’re saying, I really do. You should have seen the look on his face when I dropped Maya on that sofa seven months ago. He was terrified. I almost thought he was actually going to turn me away and tell me to find someone else. But something about Maya, right from the beginning, made him stop and want to at least try. Sherlock Holmes, of all people.” She smiled slightly, tilting her head as she recalled that day. “He was so worried about not failing her that he texted me less than a day after I left London to ask what her favorite bedtime stories were and what kinds of foods he should give her. Maybe it was a challenge or a puzzle that he wanted to solve. Whatever it was, Maya clearly changed Sherlock more than I ever realized her to be capable of. You helped too, of course. The man I saw when I walked into this flat last night is a completely different man than the one I left in this flat last year. And that is incredible.”

“So you’ll stay?” John asked hopefully, giving Irene a small smile.

“Of course I will. London has always been my first love anyway; it would be nice to actually settle down here and not have to worry about moving at a moment’s notice to escape from government officials who are upset with me. But I have one condition for you as well, if I stay.”

John raised an eyebrow, clasping his hands on the table in front of him. “And what would that be?”

“You need to promise me that you’ll take care of Sherlock. You give him everything Maya doesn’t and give him every bit of love he’s been denied over the years. Help him take care of Maya and help him see that he deserves all the love both you and Maya give him.” She paused to give John a knowing smirk. “Oh, and make sure to shag him senseless. He should walk funny at least once a week and your bedroom should be the reason why.” She winked at him and smiled warmly at John for the first time they had been in the flat together.

John laughed out loud at that, shaking his head in disbelief. He grinned back at her. “Don’t worry, that can be arranged.”

Irene laughed. “Good. Because I swear I thought I was going to break him the night we had dinner. The man was a mess. But even then I knew what kind of man Sherlock Holmes was, and I can still say now that you are the only man who can give him what he deserves. Because I know you’ve loved him for a very long time, John. I’m so glad you idiots finally got your shit together.”

John smiled and laughed again and was about to respond when Sherlock walked into the kitchen in that moment, a freshly bathed and clothed Maya sitting atop his shoulders and giggling, tangling her tiny hands in his unruly mop of curls. He was smiling and humming a random classical tune that he had probably played for Maya on his violin as he tilted his head to the side slightly to look at her sitting on his shoulders.

Maya made the most adorable noise that was apparently her attempt at growling, leaning forward on her father’s shoulders and scrunching her hands into claws. She “growled” again and said in a low voice, “Rawr! I’m a dragon. Like Smaug. Am I scary, Daddy?”

“Obviously. You’re the most terrifying dragon I’ve ever seen,” Sherlock replied. He laughed as he swiftly lifted her up into the air and back down on her chair next to Irene, pausing to give her a quick kiss on the forehead, making her giggle again. “I’m happy to see that you’ve been enjoying _The Hobbit_ this week. It was one of my favorite books as a child.”

Sherlock then grinned widely at John before he came up behind him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and leaning down on him slightly over the chair, kissing him gently on the neck.

“Hello my love,” John murmured, turning his head around and offering his mouth to Sherlock for a quick peck on the lips. Sherlock smiled back drunkenly at John when he pulled away and nuzzled his neck gently again.

Irene smiled at Sherlock and John before turning to Maya and saying, “What do you think about starting school next year in London?” to which Sherlock’s head whipped up so fast from John’s neck that he nearly got whiplash. John grinned up at Sherlock as he squeezed one of his hands tightly against his chest.

Once they had all talked it over, it was clear that both Irene and Maya were definitely staying in London. Sherlock insisted that Mycroft would not only clear Irene’s name with the British government and provide her with any protection by the MI6 that she would require at any time, but he would also find her a suitable flat in the London area and enroll Maya in one of the finest schools the city had to offer.

Maya would be close enough to Baker Street that she would just be a Tube journey away from her father at all times. She would live permanently with her mother, but nearly every weekend she would spend with John and Sherlock. When she got older, she could spend several weeknights with them as well, once she was old enough to navigate the Tube system on her own.

Her room (or John’s old room) would remain untouched in the flat, always ready for her arrival each weekend or if Irene decided she needed a night out or a break from mothering. Although Sherlock was slightly disappointed that 221B would only be Maya’s secondary home, he was grateful that she would be living so close to them. They all decided that it would probably be best for Maya to live with her mother, not because Sherlock was incompetent, but because Maya’s safety was the thing Irene had been so desperately fighting for all those cold months in Russia.

Although the whole arrangement felt more like a strange divorce settlement with child custody issues than anything else, it was something. All of the holidays would be spent together with the whole family at Baker Street, Maya and Irene’s flat, or at the Holmes parents’ home in the country. Maya’s breaks from school would be split evenly between her mother and father, where she would spend half of the holidays with Sherlock and the other half with Irene. She would essentially grow up between two different households and two separate parents, but it was the only solution where both parents could be in her life and not lose their heads because they were living under the same roof. This was better than living with only one or the other as well.

Once they had worked out this plan, Sherlock felt instantly relieved. Everything was going to work out, just like John said. No one was leaving him for good, and even when Maya was gone, he would still have John. For the first time in his life, Sherlock actually felt blissfully content. It didn’t mean the rest of his life as a father to Maya (and later, as a husband to John) would be easy, especially since Maya was only four years old, but he felt at ease knowing that it would all somehow work out in the end.

Just because he needed to hear it for himself, he crouched down in front of Maya’s chair at the kitchen table, taking her small hands in his own and looking up at her. “I know your mother is back and you’re going to live with her now, but do you still want to spend time with me? And John? You can visit us any time you like. We’ll keep your room in the flat just how it is so it’s always ready for you. If you want to come back and visit, that is.”

Maya gave Sherlock a puzzled look, furrowing her eyebrows at him, as if confused by the question. “Of course I do. You’re my Daddy. And now Mommy’s back and I have both of you. Everything is the same except better now. Right?” She smiled at him and reached her arms out to him.

Sherlock laughed, shaking his head at her response and hugging her tightly, choking back some unexpected tears. She did want him in her life after all. He nodded as he pulled away, grinning as he kissed her cheek quickly. “Right. What do we say?”

“Ohana means family,” Maya said immediately, her face lighting up.

“And family means nobody gets left behind,” they said together.

“Or forgotten,” Irene added behind Maya, reaching her hand out to them. Sherlock smiled and took her hand in his, squeezing Irene’s hand gently.

“And the family of the year award goes to…” John said teasingly, standing up from his chair and walking over to Maya’s chair.

“Oh stop. You’re in on this too, remember. You’re stuck with me now,” Sherlock replied playfully as he stood up and wrapped his arms around John.

John grinned up at him, leaning up for a kiss. “And how lucky I am to be stuck with such an adorable idiot,” he said when they pulled away.

“Who is up for a day at the park and ice cream?” Sherlock offered, still hugging John to his chest and looking down at Maya pointedly.

“Me!” Maya squealed, immediately jumping down from her chair and running upstairs to get her shoes.

Irene rolled her eyes at Sherlock as she stood from her chair. “Oh dear, I can already tell how much you’re going to spoil our daughter…” she said, a smile on her lips.

“Like you don’t!” Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes right back.

“Now, now, children,” John said, pulling away from Sherlock and turning towards the hallway, Sherlock’s hand in his as he pulled them both towards the bedroom. “We’ve just started this whole ‘living together in peace and harmony’ deal, let’s not spoil it.”

Irene just looked at Sherlock and burst out laughing. He broke into a smile and chuckled as well, shaking his head.

“Only for Maya’s sake,” he said sarcastically, making a face at Irene before following John down the hallway.


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flash forward 25 years to Sussex, where John and Sherlock are living a happy retired lifestyle in a little cottage with bees, an energetic dog, and frequent visits from Maya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it is done. This is the epilogue for my parentlock fic, so I really do hope you enjoy! This fic is in no way perfect (I can think of a hundred things that I would go back and change) but it is my first multi-chapter fic I have ever published (AND FINISHED!) so I'm pretty proud of this piece of writing. It has been quite the adventure and thank you so much for anyone who read this ridiculous story, I appreciate all the love and support I got from this fic! 
> 
> So here is a sweet fluffy epilogue for you to end it all on a happy note. (honestly the reason I wrote an epilogue is so I could write fluffy retirementlock old man cuteness, another one of my favorite AU's I'm just hitting all my bases here)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and enjoy my darlings!!! <3 <3 <3

_~~ 25 years later ~~_

 

“Dad?” Maya called out as she opened the door to the cottage. “John? Anybody home?”

“In the kitchen!” rang John’s voice, echoing down the hallway.

Maya smiled as she rounded the corner and saw Sherlock mixing a pitcher of iced tea and John arranging a fruit tray. Both of the men looked up and smiled at her when she walked into the kitchen with open arms.

“Hello Maya,” Sherlock said, grinning and pulling his daughter into a warm embrace. He kissed her on the cheek and pulled away slightly to look at her. “And you look beautiful, as always.”

Her dark hair that had slowly lost its curls over the years and become gloriously wavy instead rested just past her shoulders, one side of it clipped back with a bobby pin. She still had the most perfect combination of both her mother and father’s gorgeous eye color, a rich blue that was bright and contrasted dramatically with her dark hair. She shared her father’s pale complexion and inherited her mother’s smooth and almost perfect skin. All this combined with her curvy yet fit body made her truly beautiful, as if she had taken both Sherlock and Irene’s most perfect features and molded them together to create her genetic make-up. Even Sherlock recognized that he had an extraordinarily gorgeous young woman for a daughter. She didn’t see it though, so Sherlock took every opportunity he could to embarrass her by commenting on it constantly.

Maya smiled and kissed her father’s cheek. “Oh stop. And you don’t look a day older from the last time I saw you.” She grinned and playfully ruffled his short curly salt and pepper colored hair, which was looking more and more gray these days.

“You should tell that to my back,” Sherlock replied sarcastically, but still smiling a little.

“Oh but you’re young at heart. As is John, I’m sure,” she added, walking over to John and giving him a hug and a kiss as well as he greeted her with a “Hello love,” before returning to his fruit tray duties.

Maya was suddenly almost tackled to the ground by a large Irish setter jumping excitedly around her legs. “Hey Red!” she exclaimed, immediately sinking to her knees and making a face as Red covered her cheeks in wet sloppy kisses and wiggled uncontrollably. She smiled and scratched behind his ears before standing up again. “You would think he would have calmed down a bit by the age of eight, but Red seems even more like a puppy every time I see him,” she said, shaking her head.

“He’s just a lively one, that’s all. Isn’t that right, boy?” Sherlock said, smiling and patting Red’s head as the dog grinned up at him, panting.

“I brought you some books I found at the Camden street market last week that I thought you might like. There was one on beekeeping that I’d never seen before and knew you had to have it. And Mom made these for you and John and asked me to bring them for you,” Maya said, pulling out a tin full of scones from the bag she had left on the floor when she entered the kitchen.

“Are you certain these aren’t poisoned?” Sherlock asked, taking the tin and sniffing at them suspiciously. They were the kind with the raisins and cinnamon, his favorite, as Irene knew.

“Sherlock, I feel like Irene got past drugging you a long time ago. Especially after she moved to the countryside and started raising chickens,” John said, smirking. “Although you were quite entertaining while drugged, I have to say. Besides the fact that I had to pick you up off the floor about a dozen times.”

Maya laughed. “No, they’re actually homemade and very fresh; she made them this morning before I left for my train. Free of both poison and drugs, I promise.”

“Can’t be too careful. That mother of yours is a crafty one. She tricked me into sleeping with her, for one thing.”

“Ew, Dad, gross,” Maya said, making a disgusted face. “But I know you don’t regret that, because then you wouldn’t have me.” She smiled sweetly at him and batted her eyelashes.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “If you say so,” he groaned, but smiled before retrieving a plate from the cupboard to put the scones on.

“Come on outside, Maya. Could you grab the iced tea? We have the table set up already,” John said, already starting to walk towards the door with his tray full of fruit.

The three of them then moved out into the backyard, Red trailing behind them. Once outside, he bounded out into the grass and did a few laps around the yard before collapsing into the shade under one of the trees and sprawling out in the cool grass, sighing in content.

Sussex was beautiful in the springtime, even more so at Sherlock and John’s spacious yet cozy cottage, with its sprawling backyard and three large beehives that sat at the far end of it. The rest of the yard was covered in flowers in every color imaginable, dotting all around the fence line and making for a beautiful view from the large windows of the kitchen that overlooked the garden and hives. It was mid-May, and everything was blooming and full of life, which made the yard even more breathtaking, especially with a bout of rare English sunshine that had managed to burn off most of the clouds that afternoon.

John slid the screen door shut behind him and followed Sherlock and Maya to the wooden table in the corner of the yard, which was already set up with a great lunchtime spread. Sandwiches, salad, fruit, iced tea, and now scones adorned the table, clearly too much food for three people alone, but Sherlock always overdid these things. John didn’t care, as long as he got to eat as much of Sherlock’s good cooking as he could, a talent he was offended that Sherlock had managed to hide from him for so many years.

When John had first suggested retiring to a cottage in Sussex, Sherlock was reluctant. London had been his home for decades, as well as their flat. Leaving Baker Street was something Sherlock never imagined he would ever have to do, especially not after he and John had finally gotten married after Maya had just turned seven and Sherlock finally gave in to John’s pleas. (He had told John over and over again he didn’t need a silly ring and a stupid piece of paper to prove that he was committed to him for the rest of his life, but he finally agreed to it all simply because it made John happy. And of course John still teased Sherlock about the look on his face after the rings went on both their fingers and how hard he had kissed him for their first kiss as husbands.)

But when he had turned sixty years old, Sherlock was forced to realize how much his body wouldn’t be able to handle the hustle and bustle of his favorite city any longer. When maneuvering the Tube became difficult and even climbing the stairs to the flat was starting to make his knees ache on a daily basis, he knew that John was right. It was time for a change.

So they found a nice cottage in Sussex, not too big and not too small, just large enough for the two of them to live comfortably, but with a guest bedroom in case they had visitors to stay with them, like Maya. Sherlock had insisted on keeping beehives, a subject he had started researching somewhat randomly one day but was so excited about it that John allowed him to pursue it.

Now they had three full active beehives and Sherlock collected the honey from them and sold them at the farmer’s market in town year-round. John sometimes helped with the hives as well, but not often, as he had a slight fear of bees and was also mildly allergic to their stings. He was more than happy to deal with the customers at the market, which Sherlock got grumpy with, as was his way.

Sherlock and John had spent the last five years or so in Sussex, and although Sherlock missed his beloved London terribly at first and was so sulky that John briefly considered returning to the city, the small town eventually grew on him. He had his bees, he had Red (the energetic Irish Setter they had adopted as a stray Sherlock found wandering the streets on his walk home from town one day and had brought home with him; when John saw both of their faces, he couldn’t say no to keeping the mutt), and most importantly, he had his John.

They had managed to spend the last twenty five years together, not quite so blissfully as they would have hoped, but happy enough. Sherlock never thought he would see the day where he retired with John Watson to live out the rest of their days as elderly men together, but it was happening right before his eyes.

Both John and Sherlock were always happy to see Maya, who was now twenty nine years old and living in London still, working for _The Guardian_ newspaper. She was a crime scene reporter, investigating and reporting on local homicides and suspicious killings, a career influenced no doubt by her retired consulting detective of a father. She spent her fair share of time between actual crime scenes with Scotland Yard and the morgue at St. Bart’s when she wasn’t writing up her articles, quite literally following her father’s footsteps.

Irene had decided to retire to the countryside as well, taking up residence in the quiet town of Dorset in the south of England. She now spent her days raising chickens and embroidering, while finding the time to attend her bridge and knitting society club meetings on a regular basis. Sherlock never pictured The Woman to have such an ordinary retired life, but then again, he never pictured himself to be keeping bees in Sussex with John and a dog either.

Maya had just finished spending a few days with her mother in Dorset and was now due to spend the weekend with Sherlock and John at their cottage. Every time she got some time off from work, she made the most of it and usually went on a short holiday to either Dorset or Sussex to spend time with her parents. She enjoyed the short escape from the loudness and business of London and loved to spend hours just sitting in the backyard with Sherlock and John, talking about everything and anything.

She had managed to make this visit last a bit longer than usual because she was going to be sent off to Scotland soon to do some reporting on a big murder case where the killer hadn’t been caught and the circumstances surrounding the death were still a mystery. Maya was being sent to give frequent reports on the case as it unfolded, which included interviewing the police and detectives working on the case while she was there. It was an important job, one that might even feature her in a few quick TV spots as well if the case was big enough. She would be gone for as long as it would take to solve the murder but she had been graciously granted a few days of vacation before she left, as she wasn’t needed on the scene quite yet with the police still collecting evidence in a closed crime scene. This was the first time she was being sent so far to investigate a murder for her job, and she was absolutely thrilled at the prospect; she was finally managing to prove herself to her superiors at the newspaper and only hoped more assignments like this would come in the future if she did well enough with this one.

Maya couldn’t help but smile at the eagerness in her father’s eyes when she told them about the investigation. He leaned forward in his chair, hands folded under his chin, waiting for her to explain the details to him. She technically wasn’t supposed to disclose such information with the public, but she knew Sherlock had no one to tell but John about it all, so she figured he was safe.

“And they haven’t come up with any suspects yet. The victim was an orphan and only had a handful of family members, all of them scattered across Europe in different places. Only a few close friends, most of them work-related. No one had a reason to kill her. She was found sitting on a lawn chair in her backyard, dead by choking on her own vomit. But no alcohol was found in her system, no sign of a struggle anywhere in the house or any sign of a forced entry, just a poison, cyanide, that had somehow gotten into her system. Doesn’t appear to be a suicide, especially because they’re treating it like a homicide, so maybe there’s more they’re not telling me yet. There were things missing from her house, although the whole place looked undisturbed. And her cat is missing, if that means anything. Whatever happened, it happened quietly, that’s for sure. And all in a small town in Scotland, where everyone knows everyone, and no one has a clue who killed her. The police even suspect that this kind of thing has happened before, in a neighboring small town.”

Sherlock nodded slowly, taking in the story. “Hmm…” he said thoughtfully, tucking his hands under his chin in his signature deep-in-thought position.

John rolled his eyes and started loading some fruit onto his plate. “Now you’ve done it,” he said, but he was smiling a little. “You’ve just given him a case to solve. Good luck having him speak to us at all in the next few hours.”

“John, don’t be ridiculous,” Sherlock interrupted suddenly, coming out of his trance. He turned to Maya, looking at her seriously. “There are several variables to consider here. Obviously you don’t know much information yet and you’ll likely be filled in more once you get there, but there ae still plenty of things to consider. For example: could you easily gain access to the backyard through a gate or door near the side of the house? What was the expression on her face when she died? Blank, peaceful, terrified? Any ex-boyfriends or husbands we should know of? Any children from past relationships? Did she live alone? Did she have any pets? Was she a very social person?” Sherlock spit out each question in his typical, rapid-fire way, and Maya just looked at him, bewildered. After a moment, she took out her notepad from her back pocket and began hastily scribbling notes down on it.

Sherlock paused, taking a breath and thinking for a moment. “Why would anyone have a reason to poison a woman in a small town like that? She either has a very dark past the police don’t know about or a stranger just passing through decided he’d fancy a quick murder. That or someone was clearly angry with her for something and had a just reason to kill her. Was she rich, possibly? An heir trying to kill her off to steal her fortune, trying to make it look like an accident? Cyanide is an interesting cause of death…find out how she got it. If it was in a pill, it had to be somehow forced into her mouth by someone. Unless it was a suicide. But that’s highly unlikely if it looked like her house had been broken into. What was taken? Something valuable? Cyanide is hardly a popular poison among thieves, I would think. Was she on any medication that could have been switched with the poison pills? Why was she even sitting out in the backyard that day anyway? What time of day was her body found? Perhaps the poison was put into some food she bought on her way home, which she ate while sitting out in her garden one night after work, around dinnertime. It’s been nice weather recently, perhaps she decided to enjoy the night outside. If this kind of thing has happened before, was it in a similar way? Do the victims have anything in common? Were they both women? Did they know each other? Did they have something to hide? If you get a chance to look at any evidence or even visit the crime scene, remember the methods I taught you. In approximately a minute or less you should be able to collect all the information you need. Even the tiniest details are significant, and if you can’t figure it out right there, just write everything down so you can go through it later. You know my methods, Maya. Use them. ”

He stopped, panting slightly. Maya kept writing for another minute or so then looked up at Sherlock with wide eyes. “Bloody hell, Dad,” she said, grinning. “Remind me to consult you for these kinds of things more often. You aren’t rusty at all! I may even be able to solve the case for them at this rate.”

Sherlock smiled a bit at that then grabbed a scone off the plate, taking a large bite out of it. “I don’t doubt that you could, my dear. You just have to know how to ask the right questions. You’ll pick it up eventually. You’re miraculously not an idiot, thank god,” he said after swallowing.

“He means that in the best possible way, Maya,” John added apologetically.

Maya laughed and nodded, putting her notebook on the table and grabbing a scone for herself. “Oh I know. I’ve known this man long enough to know when he’s insulting me and when he’s making an effort to be a decent human being.”

Sherlock shrugged. “I was just trying to help. My powers of deduction used to have quite the reputation, after all.”

“Yeah, until we both got too old to be running around the streets of London. You do more hobbling around these days than I do, and I’m the one with the bad leg. It’s probably from all those times you recklessly threw yourself off buildings. Probably blew out your knees. The arthritis doesn’t help much either,” John said teasingly.

“Hey, don’t remind me of how old I actually am,” Sherlock said, smirking. “You’re one to talk. You’re technically older than me. At least I don’t have white hair.”

“You’re insufferable,” John replied, then leaned forward to plant a quick kiss on Sherlock’s lips.

“Not while I’m eating, maybe?” Maya said, making a gagging face.

At that, Sherlock simply leaned forward even more and cupped John’s face in his hand, kissing him deeply. He took his time before finally pulling away and sitting back in his chair, a wide smile on his face as he teasingly raised his eyebrows at Maya.

“You two are so in love it’s disgusting. How are you still this cute as old men?”

John smiled and took Sherlock’s hand in his, rubbing gentle circles into it with his thumb. “I don’t know, we’re just lucky, I guess,” he said absentmindedly, unable to take his eyes off of Sherlock.

When Sherlock finally managed to pull his eyes away from John for a moment, he looked across the table at Maya, who was looking between them and smiling slightly.

“While we’re on the subject, how’s what’s his face? I mean…Chris?” Sherlock asked, making an effort to be interested in Maya’s personal life for once. She always enjoyed talking about her job, but she rarely spoke to them about her love life.

Maya sighed and made a face. “Chris is gone. He’s been gone for about a month now. I’ve just started dating this guy named Zach though, and it’s going really well.”

“What happened to Chris? I rather liked him,” John said. “He was a medical student, yeah? Smart bloke.”

Maya nodded. “Yeah, he was great and all, but he just got…boring, after a while. He only liked to talk about what he was studying in school and how many awards he had gotten and blah blah. It was enough to make me want to tear my hair out. So I ended it. He was far too dull.”

“Oh god, you’re picking up some of your father’s sayings now,” John groaned. “The last thing I need is two of you in this house.”

Sherlock laughed at that. “That’s my girl,” he said. “So what does this Zach do?”

Maya smiled. “He actually started out as one of my really good friends from work. He’s been at _The Guardian_ just a little longer than I have. He works in the world news department. We met at one of the Christmas parties a while back and we’ve been going out for coffee or lunch as friends every now and again, going on at least a year now, I’d say. About two weeks ago he asked me out on a date for the first time, and we’ve been fairly happy so far. It’s nice to be dating someone I already know somewhat well.”

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully. “Hm. He sounds acceptable, but I’ll have Mycroft do a background check on him just to be safe.”

Maya groaned, putting a hand over her eyes. “Dad, really? Must you do a background check on every man I date? I’m almost thirty years old for god’s sake. I can take care of myself. And I’m sure Uncle Mike’s getting tired of indulging you. He’s retired too, you know.”

“Nonsense. He lives for this kind of stuff. Otherwise he just spends his days watching crap telly on the sofa while eating cake. It’s good for him to be under the impression that he’s still a major part of the British government. We have to make sure this Zach is acceptable for you in every way. Meaning no serial killer past, drug arrests, or a history of domestic violence. Did I raise you with no standards?”

Maya rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “Well considering I had a childhood spent between a former lesbian dominatrix who occasionally tried to blackmail government officials for a mother and a consulting detective who married his flatmate and sometimes spent more time with corpses than actual living people for a father, I’m not sure how sound your judgment is at times. Or mine, for that matter. Growing up in a house with exploding experiments in the kitchen and heads in the fridge was definitely a unique childhood, in a nutshell.”

Sherlock shrugged. “Touché.”

John nodded at that, laughing. “Her argument is sound.”

Maya hesitated for a moment, biting her lower lip the way she did when she was thinking. “But on second thought, maybe we should do a background check on him? Not that he ever has to know, of course. But you can’t be too careful, right?”

Sherlock smiled. “I’ll text Mycroft later and let him know. He’ll be thrilled at your request.”

Red walked over to the table then and plopped his head into Maya’s lap with a sigh. She smiled down at him and scratched his favorite place behind his ears then broke off a tiny piece of scone to feed him.

“You always spoil that dog,” Sherlock remarked, and Maya smiled guiltily at him.

“Not as much as you spoil him,” John scoffed.

Maya sighed and tilted her head back slightly in her chair, closing her eyes and enjoying the peacefulness of Sussex, one hand still stroking Red’s ears gently as he continued to lean into her lap. She listened to John and Sherlock discuss something about going to the market the next day to sell some honey, smiling in content. They spoke to each other the same way they did years ago, with just as much love and respect for one another, with witty bits of banter in-between.

“Dad?” she said suddenly, still while tilting her head back with her eyes closed.

“Yes, Maya?” he replied after finishing his thought to John.

She opened her eyes and leaned forward again, giving him a small smile. “You know that I wouldn’t have traded my childhood for anything, right? Even when I was kidnapped at four years old and held at gunpoint, even when my experiment for the science fair earned me a trip to the emergency room when I was ten, even when I almost failed my project on the solar system because you helped me with it and had it all wrong and John had to help me fix it for hours the night before, even when you gave me a set of encyclopedias for my birthday one year instead of actual presents, even when you almost got me kicked out of school after having a row with one of my teachers and deducing that her husband was cheating on her with a fifteen year old…”

John laughed and shook his head. “How long is this list? Because when you put it like that, your childhood was a bloody train wreck.”

Maya laughed and smiled, continuing. “All of that was worth it because I had you for a dad. And John as a second father. You two combined with my sometimes equally eccentric mother honestly made it all exciting yet strange, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I knew how much you all loved me, and that made all that other stuff not matter as much.” She looked down at Red and scratched his head. “I just wanted you to know that,” she said, shrugging.

Sherlock smiled at Maya, a genuine smile on his lips, blinking back a few tears in his eyes. “And I wouldn’t have traded anything to have you as a daughter, Maya. Because when I look at you, I honestly think that I did something right in this world. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Hey,” John said, kicking Sherlock’s foot beneath the table and looking mockingly offended.

“Besides my wonderful husband John Watson, of course,” he said, reaching for John’s hand again and smiling back at him, leaning forward to kiss him on the lips quickly as an apology. “How did I end up with both of you in my life, honestly?”

Maya smiled and stood up from her chair, walking behind Sherlock and wrapping her arms around his neck as she leaned down lightly onto his shoulders. She kissed his cheek and said, “You just got lucky, I guess. And so did we.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also: I know the deduction/question thing in this chapter is absolute shit but deductions are hard and I can't write anything like that where I can't imagine Sherlock not laughing at me for behind my back, so sorry about that. I TRIED. Just ignore that and the epilogue is great. :)


End file.
